


Dirty Dealing

by lookslikenico, winglesswarrior



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Dirty Dancing AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 47,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2708879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookslikenico/pseuds/lookslikenico, https://archiveofourown.org/users/winglesswarrior/pseuds/winglesswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had a plan for his final summer before college. He was going to intern at the Sheriff's station, get ahead on the plans for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, his dad had some hazy idea of him having 'one last summer' as a lazy teenager. Now, he's stuck cooling his heels and feeling very out of place at some stuck up country club, where he feel he has more in common with the staff than the other members. Of course, that could be because the staff include his new 'how have we never met before' best friend Scott and the 'it should be physically impossible for someone to be that perfect' new crush, Derek. Who apparently hates him - but not enough that he won't swallow his pride and put up with Stiles' presence when he's needed to help get Erica out of trouble...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It all started as a joke, an email about fan fic fail where someone typed "what was Stiles' lift" instead of "life" and a long conversation about Derek and Stiles in the lift scene in Dirty Dancing and then suddenly...Here we are. It started out as a Dirty Dancing-esque AU, but quickly took on a life of its own! Enjoy!

The morning after the night after graduation, Stiles woke up and wished he’d never been born. He loved Lydia Martin. His own personal strawberry blonde goddess-slash-bff had beat him out by a hair’s breadth for valedictorian, but she still threw the best parties at Beacon Hills High. Last night’s had outdone them all and he was paying for it this morning.

At least he had an understanding with his father about underage drinking. Or, at least a don’t ask, don’t tell agreement. Stiles didn’t make things obvious, didn’t get caught, and his father didn’t leave his room when Stiles came stumbling home late at night, and said nothing about hangovers the next morning. It didn’t make the hangovers easier to deal with, but at least they didn’t come with a crispy side of paternal lecture.

He rolled over, grappling for his phone and knocking it to the floor as it buzzed with an incoming message. He waved his hand around in the vague area by his bed, then gave up. He was already contemplating catching another few hours sleep, getting through the aftermath of last night’s shot wars with Danny by the supremely magnificent plan of utter unconsciousness, when it buzzed again.

And again.

And again.

“Alright! I get the message!” Stiles proclaimed as he half fell out of bed, hanging from his waist until he found the offending phone.

Six missed messages from Lydia - all variations on the theme that she was on her way over. Stiles groaned, allowing himself to fall the rest of the way to the floor. He was halfway through sending her a reply to call off their plans when the bedroom door opened.

Stiles looked up - only time realize he was lying the wrong way, and so the view he got was of Lydia’s legs, bare save for cork heeled sandals at one end, and tiny, perfectly tailored white shorts at the other. She sighed, tossing her long, red hair back over her shoulder with a gesture of perfectly manicured nails. “You’re a mess,” she said, crossing the room and half dragging him to his feet. “Go, take a shower while I pick out your outfit. I told Danny we’d meet him at the club in an hour - and it’ll take me that long to make it look even vaguely like you belong there,” she added, giving a long suffering glance toward Stiles’ laundry bin with its abundance of plaid.

Stiles groaned as he shut the bathroom door behind him. He leaned against the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. He’d forgotten all about the club. Namely, Beacon Hills Golf and Country Club. The place where all the people on salaries much higher than the Stilinski’s hung out. Stiles had wanted to spend his summer working with his dad, but the sheriff had been adamant. Stiles would be heading off to college come fall. It would do him good to have a summer free to just be a teenager. Stiles knew his dad didn’t understand: Stiles didn’t really care about all that stuff. What he wanted was to follow in his dad’s footsteps. He couldn’t think of anything greater than being just like his father. Interning at the sheriff’s department would be a great foot in the door to do that. Instead, he would be spending long, dull and boring days stuck by the pool, or playing tennis, or whatever it was they did up there.

“Five minutes!” Lydia’s dulcet warning tones came drifting through the door. She was evil, Stiles decided. He couldn’t believe that he’d once thought himself in love with her. At least he’d been over that for the last few years. He also knew better than to tempt her wrath though, and focused on doing what she asked instead, stripping out of the clothes from the night before that he’d slept in and ducking under the warm spray. It took a while, probably longer than the five allotted minutes, but by the time he emerged from the shower he felt slightly better. He dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist before heading back into his room.

“Finally,” Lydia said from where she was perched on his bed, legs crossed, examining her nails. She shot him a glance, eyeing his bare stomach and chest in a way that almost made him anxious but he stuffed down. Years of a lacrosse had him in decent shape and while he wasn’t Danny who could trot around shirtless and look like an Abercrombie model, he wasn’t that awful.

“I’m hungover Lyds,” he grumbled, forcing himself to focus on finding underwear so he wouldn’t be so exposed in front of her judging looks.

“That’s your fault. I told you last night you were going to be, but you insisted you were fine. Something about an amazing constitution,” she countered a with a roll of her eyes. “Also we’re buying you new clothes this summer.” She eyed the boxers with little shamrocks on them that he’d pulled out of his drawer to put on. “And underwear. New underwear.”

“My underwear’s fine,” he told her, pulling the boxers on under his towel and then heading for the small pile of clothes that she’d set out for him. “It’s not like anyone’s ever going to see it.”

“I’ve seen it. Danny’s seen it…”

Stiles shot her a withering look as he pulled on the dark red t-shirt that she had bought him a few months back. “Neither of you count, you know that.”

“Just because we’re not interested in what you’ve got beneath them and you’re not interested in us finding out, doesn’t mean we don’t count, Stiles,” she told him as he pulled on a pair of jeans and then checked himself out in the mirror. The t-shirt was too tight - it clung to his upper arms and across his chest in a way that made him feel self-conscious, especially when teamed with the tightest pair of jeans he owned. Grimacing, he grabbed a blue and red plaid shirt from the back of his desk chair and threw it on over Lydia’s ensemble, immediately feeling more like himself again.

“Not the shirt,” Lydia said, leaning up to pull at it, trying to take it back. “I didn’t lay that out. And it’s _summer_. Put that back.”

“No Lyds. I’m not wearing this t-shirt alone.” She glared at him and he felt that trickle down his spine where he doubted his own ability to stand up to her. In the beginning he hadn’t been able to at all, but once he got over her it was actually something he was capable of doing. Most of the time. Sometimes. Occasionally. When it counted.

He didn’t object as Lydia took him by the shoulders and manhandled him, front and center. He knew what was coming. He could basically quote the lecture by now. In fact, he did - mouthing along with her words as she said, “Stiles Stilinski - you are a hottie. You are no longer the scrawny, gangly nerd that you were in seventh grade. You are no longer ruled by your ADHD. You are the smartest guy I know.” Stiles looked at her, unashamed, when she glared at him for mimicking her. “Fine - be like that, but you don’t need to hide what you have. You’ve got game in there somewhere, Stiles - you’ve just got to find the confidence to use it.”

“Use it for what?” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“College. The world’s greatest summer fling because you didn’t have a date to prom. So I look better when you stand next to me. Give me the plaid.”

“I like the plaid.”

“You like Star Wars and online clan gaming, but it’s not something you lead with. Ease them in gently once you’ve got to know them, okay? _Then_ you can spring the trap.”

“The trap?” Stiles asked, scowling as he reluctantly peeled off the looser shirt.

“Yes - the fact that underneath the GQ model exterior is a mushy and squishy geek interior. But by then, they’ll be sold on the whole package,” Lydia said, taking the shirt with the tips of her manicured nails and looking at it like it was roadkill. She looked up at him, pleadingly. “Can I burn this? Please? With all of your others? We could sacrifice them on the altar of actually getting you laid.”

“No,” Stiles said grabbing for the shirt to protect it. “I’m not easing anyone into anything and if I find someone to sleep with it’ll be because they like things like plaid and online MMORPGs and Star Wars. God, how do none of my friends appreciate Star Wars? At least the person I’m hooking up could appreciate the wonder and glory that is Star Wars.”

Lydia rolled her eyes and threw the shirt away. “Fine. Whatever. Die a virgin. There is only so much I can do and in the end it will likely be very little. Can you put on shoes so we can go? Danny’s already texted me a million times. We’re late.”

“You could have just left me to die of a hangover and then I could have gone and worked for my dad, like the original plan…”

“...which nobody went for at all, because I have it on good authority that your dad’s hoping to turn your head from law enforcement to just law,” Lydia told him, impatiently, as Stiles pulled on footwear and snorted a laugh.

“Sure - imagine me, all suit and tie and arguing a case in front of a judge,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“That’s the thing, Stiles,” Lydia told him with a long sigh as they finally left. “We all can.”

\-----

Nowhere was very far from anywhere in Beacon Hills and even though the Country Club was on the outskirts backing onto the preserve they were there in no time at all. Pulling up outside the entrance Lydia swooped out of the car handing her keys with a flirtatious smile to the valet and hooking Stiles’ arm in hers as they headed inside.

“PIck your jaw up off the floor, darling,” she whispered, with a sweetness that only came from her stage smile. “First rule of fitting in round here - you’re bored with everything and nothing ever shocks you.”

“That’s the problem, Lydia,” Stiles hissed back at her as a well put together older man approached them. “I don’t belong here.”

Lydia, however, wasn’t listening. Instead, she let go of his arm and held her hand out and said, “Mr. Hale - lovely to see you again.”

“Ms. Martin. Lydia - how many times to I have to tell you, please call me Peter,” he told her, with a rakish look that made Stiles want to punch him in his overly attractive face and remind him that he was far too old for her, for all that Lydia was giggling coquettishly. Stiles knew that giggle. It was number forty-seven in the Lydia Martin handbook of looks and sounds designed to get her exactly what she wanted. As always, it worked like a charm as he smiled in a way that was flirting back, but not obviously, which was good considering he probably had over fifteen years on her. “Who’s your friend?” he asked, eyes raking over Stiles, eyebrow raising.

Stiles took the opportunity to step forward, and very slightly in front of Lydia. Holding out his hand, he pulled himself to full height and rolled his shoulders back. “Stiles Stilinski,” he said, with every bit of confidence he could muster, trying to imitate how his father would do it. Somehow, though, he lacked the gravitas and authority.

Yet, still, Peter inclined his head. “Ahh, yes - the son of our esteemed sheriff.”

“Right - yes. That’s right. sheriff’s son here. Absolutely. So, you just… remember that. When you’re… doing things that you might need to bear that in mind for,” Stiles said, starting out strongly, but then losing his point halfway through. Damn. Especially since Peter Hale very clearly was hiding amusement.

“I know your father well,” he said, thankfully ignoring Stiles’ bumbling ramble - which was more than Lydia was, given her long suffering sigh and tug on his elbow behind him. Stiles ignored her, caught in a one man staring match with Peter - it wasn’t fair when your opponent wasn’t playing the game. He was trying to be intimidating here. And Hale was just carrying on talking, oblivious. “I told him that I would be more than happy to make you a guest member for the summer. He was very pleased that you’d be spending time with us. Your ID card is at the desk, together with your locker combination. If there’s anything you need during your stay with us, just ask. The place is yours, Stiles.”

Stiles wanted to say something snarky, go for intimidating again, but he didn’t really get a set up with that. “Uh...right. Good.” He opened his mouth to say more, but Lydia had his arm, dragging him away from Peter.

“Thank you Peter,” she called, waving her free hand, using that lilt in her voice that was number thirty-six in the handbook, all the while squeezing Stiles’ arm hard enough to bruise. She waited to speak again until they were out of earshot, moving towards the desk. “Just what was that really?”

“He was flirting with you!” Stiles made an attempt to get his arm free from her grip but she was like a vice.

“I am aware. That’s the point. You really are dense.”

“The point? The _point_? Yeah - too damn right I’m dense, because I have no idea in what way flirting with a guy old enough to be _your father_ could _possibly_ be the point!” Stiles exclaimed, effusively.

Lydia sighed as if Stiles was the most frustrating thing that ever lived. “Because he owns the place Stiles. He’s the one that gets us what we want and we want that. So what if it requires playing nice.” She glanced back over her shoulder then smiled. “And he is good looking.”

“He’s not good looking! His... neck is too wide for his head! And those shoulders are, quite frankly, ridiculous. He’s just... symmetrical and... Okay he’s... but he’s creepy! Really slimy!”

“Right. He is slimy, but he can pull strings,” Lydia said, leaning against the front desk and asking for Stiles membership information. The staff member handed her an envelope which she handed to Stiles. “He got you in here because he wants to look good to your dad. Trust me, it’s worth enjoying the symmetry. Now. Come on. Let’s go find Danny.”

Stiles allowed her to lead him off, keeping his mouth shut and his opinions to himself as Lydia led him down a corridor and out to the pool. Glittering waters filled with beautiful people, surrounded by loungers of yet more of the same. Stiles pulled self consciously at his shirt, knowing he was the most dressed person here. So much tanned flesh and he was entirely out of place, his own form pale from too much studying and video games. He took a step back, wondering if he could just make a run to it. He backed right into a familiar hard form and turned to face Danny.

“Stiles,” Danny greeted, clamping a hand down on his shoulder. “Where are you going? And why are you in jeans?”

Lydia made a noise that was somewhere between disgust and amusement while Stiles tried to get out of his grip. What was it with his friends and their vice grips on his body? “This is as good as it gets Danny. Next stop is the mall. Promise. We’ll try and fix this.”

Stiles pulled away. “I’m not a doll. You can both stop playing dress up,” he grumbled, though he knew they’d both ignore him.

“Tomorrow, mall,” Danny agreed. “In the meantime, I have a pair of boardshorts you can borrow. Today’s a pool day. We have to do something about the color of you, Stilinski.”

“I don’t think I want your boardshorts. I don’t know where they’ve been. And my color is fine.”

“Shut up Stiles.”

“Stiles, you’re so pale you’re translucent,” Lydia pointed out and gave him a little push. “Go. Change. I’ll get us chairs and order drinks while you two get dressed.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that pale is totally in right now. Do either of you even know the skin cancer stats?”

Lydia rolled her eyes and put a warning hand on Danny’s arm as she said, “Yes, Stiles. In 2011 there 70,853 cases of melanoma in the US, of which there were 12,212 deaths, making it the most common cancer in America, according to the CDC’s most recent statistics. But there’s this amazing invention called ‘sunscreen’, which allows you to protect from cancer and sit by the pool all day.”

Stiles sputtered for a moment as Danny chuckled behind him. Eventually he just let out an angry noise. “I hate that you know that,” he told Lydia.

“No, you hate that I’m right. Now shoo. Go, change.” Lydia actually waved her hands at the two of them, then sauntered off towards the lounge chairs lining the pool. 

“You two should have your own TV show,” Danny said with a laugh as they headed into the locker room. “I could sit back and watch you all day. Priceless entertainment.”

“Oh, ha ha - how are you not half dead right now, after last night?” Stiles grumbled. Danny looked as perfect and put together as he always did, all white pearly-toothed smile and bronzed skin, whilst Stiles still felt like all he wanted to do was crawl under a rock and never come out again.

“I stopped drinking before you did and switched to water. Hydration’s the way to go, man. Seriously - you should give it a try sometime.” Danny pushed his shoulder lightly. “You don’t have the body mass to process what you tried to put away last night.”

“I thought we were supposed to be celebrating.” Stiles made a face that might have been a pout, but he wasn’t exactly good at that sort of thing and the look that Danny gave him in return meant he’d missed the mark. 

“We were. Responsibly. Aren’t you the sheriff’s son? Shouldn’t _you_ be the one giving that lecture?” Danny asked, leading the way into the locker room and towards his locker to get out the spare boardshorts. “Here. These should fit well enough for today.” The shorts he produced were bright yellow with a blue and white Hawaiian print that was enough for Stiles to give him the dirtiest of looks. 

“You’re joking.” 

“Sorry. All out of plaid.” 

Stiles snatched the offending shorts off him and made a show of changing, making it clear that it was under protest - much to Danny’s continued amusement.

“Just own it,” Danny said, finally, rolling his eyes at the show. “It’s summer, you act like you don’t care and nobody else will.”

“Says the guy who’s not looking like an extra from Hawaii Five-O right now,” Stiles grumbled in return.

“Should have brought your own shorts then,” Danny replied with a laugh.

“If your plan for the entire summer is to mock me and dress me up like your own personal Ken Doll, I officially refuse and will spend the whole thing playing video games in my room getting paler by the second,” Stiles threatened, but Danny just patted him on the back a touch harder than necessary. 

“It’s not my only plan for the summer. There’s other things to work in there as well. Don’t be so scared. Of me or yourself. It’s not like you look bad in those shorts. No one’s going to see anything other than your hip bones jutting out of them. You’re fine. I don’t understand how someone who is so cocky with how smart he is can be so damn self conscious.” 

“Every heard the term ‘he’s got a great personality’?” Stiles asked, shifting the lay of the shorts on his hips self-consciously.

Danny snorted, “You don’t need to worry about that - you’ve got a terrible personality.”

“Hey!”

“Hipbones Stiles. It’s all you need to get through the summer. And hopefully by the end of it we have you fully prepared for college and you can rely on something else.” Danny nodded towards Stiles’ discarded clothes. “Put those in your locker so we can go meet Lydia before she gives away our chairs to some hot rich kids.” 

“Aren’t you a hot rich kid?” 

“Aww you think I’m hot?” Danny’s tone was almost believable until Stiles caught that mocking glint in his eyes and he answered it with a glare. 

“Shut up.” 

Stuffing his clothes thoughtlessly into his locker, Stiles took the small triumph that was the look of aghast horror in Danny’s expression at the creases Stiles was making in his outfit.

“I don’t know why I’m friends with you,” Danny finally concluded with a roll of his eyes before he left the locker room without a look back. Stiles took the opportunity to hurry up after him, banging into his back a little with an elbow before grinning and falling into step with him.

“You’re not - you’re friends with Lydia. We just come as a package deal,” Stiles told him - the old joke that had actually stopped being true sometime in junior year.

“I wish that was true. It would mean I don’t find your sarcasm as endearing as I do.”

“Aww, you find me endearing,” Stiles cooed as Lydia waved them over with a gesture to two loungers she’d set up for them on one side of the pool. She, of course, had herself all situated, with strategically placed sunglasses, lotion, and some glossy magazine or other, which Stiles knew would be hiding the latest copy of Scientific American within.

Stiles hurried grabbing the chair closest to Lydia and stretching out on it. He was there for all of thirty seconds, not even enough time for Danny to really get settled, before he looked over at her. “Now what?”

Lydia looked at him over her sunglasses as she said, “Now you relax. Lay back, enjoy the summer.”

“So... I’m meant to, what? Just lie here?” Stiles asked, like Lydia was some kind of crazy person. She knew him. She knew he couldn’t just stay still in that way. He could already feel his skin starting to itch, boredom rising and crawling beneath his skin.

“Yes. Just lie there. Find something to focus on and meditate for all I care. The point is to take a deep breath and relax not fidget off the side of your chair.”

“This _is_ me we’re talking about,” Stiles pointed out, shifting onto his side and back again, until Danny tapped him lightly on his side and nodded over to the other side of the pool.

“Or, you could just enjoy the view,” he said, his tone of awed appreciation one that Stiles wholeheartedly agreed with as he followed Danny’s gaze to the staff member across the way.

The lifeguard sitting a little too casually in the chair overlooking the pool was easily one of the best things Stiles had seen in just about forever. He was somehow managing to look both bored and painfully vigilant behind his sunglasses. He was that perfect, early summer level of tan, which Stiles guessed would just get better as the season progressed, with a smattering of chest hair that disappeared into red lifeguard shorts. “Whoa.”

“This summer just got a whole lot more interesting,” Danny drawled, whistling quietly under his breath. “Think if I drown myself, he’d give me mouth to mouth? I bet he’s got awesome skills.”

“I’m thinking it’s not his mouth I want to get my mouth on,” Stiles blurted and Lydia hit him with her magazine.

“Gross.”

That was probably fair even if it left Stiles rubbing at a red mark on his side. “Fine, fine. Still. I think he’d know you were drowning yourself on purpose Danny. He just looks like the type to see through that.”

“Maybe I’ll just ask him if he wants to go get a drink sometime then,” Danny said with a shrug.

“You boys are as bad as each other - anyway, Danny, you know that staff aren’t meant to date members,” Lydia replied, going back to her magazine. “It’s strictly look but don’t touch.”

“Oh, we’ll be looking alright,” Stiles agreed, his heart sinking a little as the object of his dreams scanned across the pool and looked straight past them. He was used to that - being invisible to the beautiful people. The only consolation was that he didn’t give Danny or Lydia a second glance either.

“And coming up with creative, but allowed ways to touch,” Danny added.

“Sunscreen,” Stiles said with a nod, not taking his eyes off the pretty for a single moment. He had a jaw that could cut glass, and abs that went all the way down. “Lots of sunscreen. I burn - really easily. I’m gonna need professional help with that. Help that only he can give. Cos, damn. Seriously.” He could write poetry about his shoulders. Probably bad poetry, but it would definitely rhyme.

Lydia made an amused noise from behind her magazine. “Now that is a scene I want to watch. Especially the part where he whacks you with the sunscreen bottle.”

“Ohhhh, he can whack me with his sunscreen bottle any time he pleases,” Stiles drawled, tone thick with innuendo.

“This is why we can’t take you nice places,” Lydia quipped, smacking him with her magazine again. Stiles laughed and swatted back at her, which this time actually did get the attention of hot lifeguard, who just seemed to raise his eyebrows in their direction then moved back to watching people swim in the pool lazily.

“You can take me nice places,” Stiles protested, resting back with his arms behind his head. “I’ll be good.”

Lydia laughed and went back to her magazine. “And you didn’t want to come to the pool.”

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind,” Stiles said, settling in for some serious ogling.

It was all going pretty well - the hot lifeguard had sounded at a couple of kids for running, his voice lighter than Stiles would have expected, though the crazy, disapproving eyebrow action was a sight to behold. That was definitely a guy who looked sexy as hell when he was mad. Stiles was already wondering if there was anything he could do to irritate and annoy, just to get that focus on him, when a shadow fell across his lounger. Looking up, Stiles saw Peter Hale standing over him. By his side was a pretty girl, who looked to be a year or so younger than Stiles.

“Stiles,” Peter said, with that syrupy smooth smile. “I hope you’re enjoying your morning. This is my daughter, Malia. Usually she lives with her mother, but she’s staying with me for the summer. Getting a feel for the business. I suggested to her that she could give you the tour, since you’re new to the Club.”

“Hey,” Malia greeted, but didn’t sound particularly thrilled about it, giving him a half wave.

“Uh, hey,” Stiles looked at Lydia who shrugged and smiled, not giving him a reason not to turn down the offer, which left Stiles finding his shoes to get up for his tour. “That’d be great. Thanks.” Malia wasn’t quite hot lifeguard, but she was cute enough if he looked beyond the supreme look of disinterest she was wearing.

“Great. Enjoy yourself then,” Peter said before patting his daughter’s shoulder and strolling off.

Malia watched him go then shook her head slightly before pushing her hair out of her eyes and fixing a smile that seemed a touch fake on Stiles. She pointed behind her. “This is the pool.”

“I figured that much out on my own.”

“Right, well you’re not a complete moron then. Come on.” Malia strode off and Stiles had to hop twice to get his feet in his sandals and follow after her. “Pool’s only open during the day, when there’s a lifeguard on duty. You’re not supposed to be in the area after hours unless you have specific permission,” she started talking again when he caught up with her.

“Is it always the same lifeguard?” Stiles asked, before he could catch himself.

Malia looked over her shoulder at the lifeguard then frowned. “No. It’s not,” she said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes a touch.

“Guess it doesn’t really matter - I’m not intending to drown,” Stiles quipped, half-heartedly.

Malia blinked at him. “No one intends to drown. And if you did - drown, not intend to - all of the lifeguards on staff are trained in rescuing people.”

Stiles stared at her, wide-eyed for a moment, mouth hanging open, wondering just how much humour was lost on this apparently overly serious girl. “...Sure,” he said, in the end. “So - where next?”

Malia looked liked she’d missed something, but shook her head and pushed onward, walking quickly and expecting him to follow. “Locker rooms are down that way. Men’s has lockers, restrooms, showers, towels are provided when needed. You aren’t allowed in the ladies locker room and you can’t bring ladies into yours. Not that they would want to be there anyway, but you get the idea.”

Lydia’s words sounded in his head - a reminder that it was a good idea to play nice with the people in charge. Malia may be a little odd, but she was easier to deal with than creepy Peter. So, Stiles swallowed down his cutting retort and fixed a smile on his face, lengthening his stride to catch up with her. “I wouldn’t want to do anything that was against the rules,” he lied, smoothly.

Malia gave him another look, skeptical this time, but she didn’t comment. “The club has two restaurants. One’s more formal dinning, up on the second floor,” she pointed upwards. “They recommend making a reservation for parties more than two if you want to be seated quickly. Downstairs and overlooking the tennis courts is the less formal dinning room, which has a bar and open seating.” She walked that way while she talked, stopping outside the restaurant. “You can order food out by the pool or the courts, but it all comes from here in the end.”

“So, the same quality, no matter what the environment?” Stiles asked.

“Exactly,” Malia agreed, with a sharp nod of her head. “There is a social gathering tonight from six in the lower dining room for the younger members. A welcome to the summer event.”

“Yeah, yeah - I think Lydia mentioned something about that.” It sounded supremely boring. Lots of rich kids hanging about drinking coke and iced tea and on their best behaviour because mummy and daddy would be watching.

“Right. Well you should attend. There’s a presentation on all the activities that have been planned for the summer and you can meet other people.” 

“Will you be there?” Stiles interrupted. 

Malia blinked at him again, obviously confused. “I will. But I work here and I’ll be there as a staff member. I don’t know why it matters if I’m there or not.” 

Stiles sighed. He didn’t get how Lydia managed to have even Peter Hale twisted round her little finger, when Stiles couldn’t even get this girl to look at him twice. “I don’t know very many people here, and your dad seemed to want us to get to know each other,” he pointed out, bluntly.

Malia frowned, looking Stiles over like that might explain something. “Is that what that was?” 

“What... did you think it was?” Stiles asked slowly, eyebrows raised.

“I thought he asked me to take you on a tour. Which is weird because I don’t do this sort of stuff. Usually I just sit behind the desk and point to where people should go, but he said he wanted me to do this and I figured I know where everything is and maybe...” She stopped rambling for a moment and caught her breath. “I missed something didn’t I?” 

The rambling and the hopeless question caught Stiles off guard and he slumped with a sigh, leaning against a wall he was sure that he wasn’t supposed to be leaning against - they probably had some sort of rule or other against that here - and looked at the socially inept girl. “Do you miss things often?” he asked, kindly.

Malia’s brow creased in frustration as she tried to glare at him, but it didn’t quite hit the mark. “Yes. Sometimes. My mother home schools me and it’s _fine_ , I’m just not around people my age that much.” She stood up straighter and leveled her gaze on him. “Are you that much better?”

“Am I...?” Stiles gestured to himself in surprise, wondering whether that was actually a question, or just plain rude. “Hey - I was trying to be nice here! No need to get all like that on me! I’m around people my own age lots. I just graduated high school! I have friends! Lots of friends. Well, two friends, at least, but by the sounds of it, that’s two friends more than you have!”

“I don’t care if you graduated! You just seem just as awkward as I am! How was I supposed to know you were some guy with your two friends that matter so much?” Malia gave him a dirty look and crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought if he wanted me to talk to you, you were like me. That was the only answer that made sense.” 

It was official - Stiles had no idea how Lydia did this. Or Danny either. They both seem to have been born with a natural charm that Stiles was clearly missing. Instead, Stiles seemed to crash and burn with every girl or guy he met. And right here, right now, he wasn’t even trying. He was just talking to this girl who he figured he was meant to get to know and apparently he was doing it wrong. He wilted, dropping his head and massaging his temples between thumb and forefinger. “Sure - I’m awkward and obnoxious and Lydia and Danny are pretty much the only people who’ll give me the time of day even and some days I don’t know why they even do that. I get it - you hate me as much as everyone else seems to. So... Why don’t we just say that you showed me around? I release you - go back to your life and your desk and I’ll go back to the pool and that’ll be it.”

Malia made a noise. “I don’t hate you. I don’t even know you. Why would I hate you?” She shook her head and pulled at his arm. “Come on, he’ll know I didn’t show you around if I come back now.” 

“Okay, so you don’t hate me,” Stiles allowed, rolling his eyes and wishing she’d at least allow him to be properly overdramatic when events called for it. “And I don’t want to get you in trouble with your dad - and your boss, I guess. So, lead on. Show me the rest of the sights of this place. What’s next? Tennis, golf?”

“Tennis. Then golf. Are you sure you didn’t get the tour before?” He wanted to accuse her of joking again, but everything about her said she was serious and Stiles had to act accordingly. 

“No, I didn’t get the tour. It’s a country club. There’s only so much there can be here.” 

Malia paused at a door, considering that before nodding. “Right. That makes sense. I should have thought of that.” 

Stiles stifled a groan. It was going to be a very long day.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles didn’t have to be the party longer than five minutes to realize he didn’t want to be there. He’d tried to get out of it, but his father was against him apparently and had once again let Lydia in the house to claim him. They had gone through the same process they had that morning, only this time she’d brought Danny and a new shirt for Stiles to wear. He felt ridiculous in the pale blue button down because it had to be a size smaller than anything he would choose for himself. He was overly conscious of the fit - the way the rich cotton pulled across his shoulders and followed the line of his chest down to his narrow waist. With the sleeves rolled up and whatever it was that she’d done to his hair to make it look like it was meant to stick up, Stiles was pretty sure he looked like he fit in. Normally it would have been reassuring, but he was still deciding if he wanted to fit in with this crowd of people or not.

“There’s a ridiculous amount of tight polo shirts going on here,” he murmured at Lydia, hoping he could subtly convince her not to be there. What was the appeal anyway? Lydia or Danny could bag anyone of these rich kids by the pool with barely more than a come hither glance, so why Stiles was being forced to sit through a meet and greet was beyond him. “If they play ice breaker games and I have to hold hands with one of these rich snobs I’m starting a mutiny.”

“It won’t count as a mutiny if it’s just you Stiles.” Lydia had _that_ tone, where he was trying her patience, but she was growling through her smile. Stiles loved that tone.

“Fine. A revolution. The poor rising up to take from the rich and give back to the poor.”

“You just mixed politics with Robin Hood.”

“I like to think Robin Hood had political motivations. He was trying to bring down a prince while the king was off fighting the Crusades.”

“Stiles…”

“So, actually, both apply to the situation…”

“Stiles.” Lydia’s tone had reached that point where he was sure it had to hurt her jaw to keep smiling and still growl at him. “No revolutions. No Robin Hood. No one is going to make you hold hands or do icebreakers because this isn’t the first day of cub scouts. Now, go get something to drink, look approachable and be nice to people.”

“I got kicked out of cub scouts.”

“I seriously can’t think of a single reason why,” Lydia deadpanned.

“Hey! Stop that. Sarcasm is my thing, you can’t have it.”

“Then don’t give me cause to. Go. Get drink. Mingle,” Lydia commanded, shooing him off with a wave of her hands and turning to talk to some guy in a sports coat that Stiles swore must have belonged to Douchebag Senior.

Stiles shook his head at the way Lydia lit up, leaning in towards the guy and twirling a lock of her hair round her finger with a girlish giggle. Honestly, for someone with a genius-level IQ, she sure hid it well when she wanted to.

Giving up on his best friend, Stiles made his way over to the bar. Leaning on the dark wood surface he looked for service, only for his voice to catch in his throat. Hot Lifeguard Man was now Hot Barman, all replete with nicely fitting white shirt and crisp black slacks, tossing shakers to make virgin cocktails like he’d been born to it. Stiles watched, wide-eyed and frozen to the spot as Mr. Perfect tossed a bottle up in the air caught it by the neck and effortlessly poured the right amount into the shaker, before throwing it up once again and catching it behind his back.

It was like the male version of Coyote Ugly in here and Stiles was determined to drink it all in, pun completely intended. Forget the rest of the party - he was sitting right here all night, watching this guy who could probably do everything. Saving lives? Check. Making drinks. Check. Looking like both he could do in his sleep? Big check. 

“Hey!” 

Stiles jumped almost out of his skin at the voice suddenly very close to his ear and spun a little too quickly and wound up with his face just inches from Malia’s. “Uh hey,” he managed, shifting back into what little space he had to not be in her space. Malia didn’t seem to notice the invasion. “What are you doing here?” 

Malia frowned. “I work here. I told you earlier today that I would be here. Why wouldn’t I be here?” she asked.

Stiles forced himself out of thoughts about the hot guy behind the bar and tried to focus on the girl standing in front of him. It took a moment, but he got himself back in gear, nodding as she spoke. “Right. Right. I forgot. Sorry. Are you having fun yet?” 

“I’m not meant to be having fun. I’m working,” she pointed out. She hesitated, then looked around, leaned in, and smiled excitedly. “But it is fun, isn’t it? All these people. Having such a good time.”

“I didn’t really ask about them, I asked about you...” Stiles said, finding her answer a little weird. “Are you having fun? I think you’re allowed - even if you’re working.” 

Much to his exasperation, she scowled at him and said, “No, that’s not what I mean. I’m having fun. Seeing all of this. It’s fun. I like working here. I like doing this. People having fun means that we’re doing it right.”

Stiles wasn’t sure they both had the same definition of ‘fun’, but still she smiled brightly as if she’d just cleared that whole thing up for him so he said, “Ah, right well yeah that’s fun sure. I mean if everyone is really having fun then yeah.”

“Can I get you guys anything?” The voice interrupted their conversation and Stiles turned to it as if pulled by a string. That tone was even better up close and not shouted across a pool at unwary kids.

“I’ll have a water, please,” Malia said, while Stiles continued to gape.

The barman turned to Stiles, waiting for him to give his order. Stiles wanted to answer, but having this guy’s focus on him seemed to have stopped his otherwise constant flow of commentary. After a moment Malia elbowed him in the ribs which jolted him out of his reverie. “One of those fancy virgin cocktails you were making,” he said a little too quickly. 

“Which one. There’s like five.” Hot Barman reached for a small printed menu, obviously special for the occasion and handed it to Stilles. 

“Oh uh, ‘Make Out On the Beach’ sounds good.” 

Barman leveled a gaze at him. “It’s pink and comes with an umbrella.” 

“Even better,” Stiles answered, hating himself as soon as the words left his mouth. _Even better?_ he mouthed, turning his head away from the others. God, he sounded like an idiot. Still, hot barman laughed lightly and turned away.

“Oh, and I want ice with my water, Derek,” Maria called after him. “Four pieces,” she specified. Then, turning to Stiles, she stage-whispered, “You have to be firm with them. Tell them exactly what you want.”

Stiles didn’t answer that. Couldn’t answer. He was just too surprised at the way she spoke like Hot Barman - Derek - was some kind of animal.

After a moment or two Derek came back with the drinks, setting down Malia’s with an almost malicious grin and five ice cubes if Stiles counted correctly, then setting Stiles in front of him, complete with little blue umbrella. “Anything else?” he asked behind a smile that wasn’t friendly at all. 

Stiles took a sip of his drink and his smile was genuine. “This is great. Wow. Thanks,” he said, hoping to turn Derek’s expression into something more positive. He failed, utterly.

Derek looked at both of them then moved away back down to the other end of the bar. Malia meanwhile was looking at her glass with disdain. “I told him four pieces. He gave me five. Can’t even handle that.” 

“It’s just ice. I’m sure you’ll survive,” Stiles pointed out, trying to keep nice. Malia on the other hand was giving Derek a death glare enough that Stiles took her by the elbow and led her away from the bar. Even if Derek wasn’t going to be nice to him, the least he could do was to stop him getting in trouble over a single piece of ice that if he probably put there on purpose. Or at least that was what Stiles would have done in his shoes.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Malia said as she was dragged away. “You can’t rely on any of them to do the work they’re asked without specific instructions and even then they get it wrong.” 

“Maybe if you cut your staff some slack, they’ll surprise you,” Stiles suggested as they left the main room and onto the veranda, looking out over the pool lit up in the night’s darkness.

“Peter says they won’t,” Malia said with a shrug. She leaned against the railing and looked at him instead of the view. “Where are your two friends?” 

“I left Lydia talking to some guy and Danny’s around somewhere... probably also taking to some guy,” Stiles admitted, not even trying to figure out where Danny had disappeared to. In all likelihood his friend was getting a blowjob in the bathroom by now.

“Your friend likes guys?” Malia asked, nose scrunching up in a way that was almost cute. “Both of your friends like guys?” 

“Both my friends like guys,” he confirmed. As did he, but he figured that wasn’t the kind of thing you proclaimed to a pretty girl when alone on a terrace with her. No matter how awkward their relationship.

Malia made a face like she was actually processing that, trying to figure it out before shrugging. “Okay. That’s a little weird, but sure.” Stiles managed to cover his laugh with his glass. She really had a knack for taking things very literally. “I like guys,” she added, almost as an afterthought. 

“Good,” Stiles said, in lieu of saying something more stupid.

“Good? Really? Why?” Malia looked at him sharply, like staring him down might explain something. 

Looking back at her, Stiles decided he was just giving up. He couldn’t do what Lydia did. He didn’t know how to turn on the charm and make people like him. What was more, he didn’t care. Either someone got him, or they weren’t worth his time.

“You know what?” he said. “Doesn’t matter. I’m going to go back inside. Find my friends.”

Malia’s hand wound up on his arm quickly, not letting him get away. When he looked back at her she hesitated in speaking, like she wasn’t sure what she wanted to go with. “Can I come with you?” 

Stiles cursed the fact that, while he hadn’t been raised with charisma and charm, he had been raised to be a nice guy. “Sure,” he said with a sigh. “Course you can come with me.”

“Good,” Malia said, matching his tone from before, keeping her hand on his arm before waving for him to lead the way. 

It was definitely, Stiles decided, going to be a long night.

\-----

Stiles eventually managed to corner Lydia away from the group of rich kids she was talking to as the party was wrapping up. He had wound up staying all evening, Malia standing next to him throughout like some sort of bodyguard. There had been no overt ogling of Derek the hot barman. There hadn’t even been all that much opportunity of playing nice and sociable with the Beacon Hills elite set, which had apparently been the point of this whole thing. Tonight had, he decided, been an utter waste of time and he wanted to just get out of here. “Can we go now?” he begged, half a step from actually pulling at Lydia’s sleeve, anything to just go. 

His expression turned unabashedly pleading as she arched a brow at him. “If you’re that desperate to leave then why are you still here?” she asked, a fixed smile on her face - long standing code for letting him know he was most definitely interrupting her.

He didn’t have time to answer before she was turning back to the guy she was with - still the same handsome douche in his father’s sportcoat - muttering her apologies, asking him to give her a minute, and then Stiles was being dragged off to the side of the room.

“What?” he asked, desperately. He hadn’t even had time time fuck up yet.

“That is _Jackson Whittemore_ ,” she hissed.

Stiles looked at her, blankly. “Who?”

“Jackson Whittemore. Of the... you know what? It doesn’t even matter. You’re totally oblivious to what’s really important. He’s smart, he’s rich, he’s hot. And he’s asked me to his after party.” Stiles started to grin at the idea of heading somewhere maybe more fun, then spotted the singular. His face fell and Lydia patted him on the shoulder. “So, I won’t be needing you to drive me home. And I saw Danny leave an hour ago with someone. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Great. Love you Stiles - you’re the best,” she told him, leaning in time give him a peck on the cheek before heading off to Jackson and leaving him standing there alone.

Stiles stared at her retreating form, the way she smiled at Jackson and did that thing where she touched his arm and not once looked back at Stiles and he knew he was forgotten for the night. “Would have been nice to have a heads up that the point of the party was to hook up with someone,” he muttered to himself before rolling his eyes and heading for the parking lot. If he’d known he might have tried. Or left much earlier. 

He pulled at the driver’s door to the jeep in the exact way he needed to get it open and climbed inside. He had to slam the door twice to get it closed though. Maybe it wasn’t as high class as every other car that had been parked here tonight, but it was his paid for with his own money. They were a team.

At least, he had always thought they were a team - something which he had to reconsider when the engine ground to an abrupt halt a half mile down the long winding driveway leading away from the Country Club.

“Come on baby,” Stiles begged his car, trying to turn the engine over again, like easing the key in the ignition might do more than just make a sad, dead noise. “Don’t do this to me.” 

He kept it up for a few more minutes, until it became clear that the jeep was completely dead. Banging his head against the steering wheel, Stiles vented his frustrations into the night very loudly - even more so when he reached for his phone and realised that he was out of battery.

“Yelling at it typically does nothing.” 

Stiles jumped out of his skin and might have yelped a little at the voice, terrified at what he’d find when he turned towards it. Axe murderer, chainsaw madman, werewolf, something. There was a strong chance he needed to stop watching horror films, but he did almost let out an audible sigh of relief when the person standing on the other side of the passenger door wasn’t holding an axe or a chainsaw or a machete. He probably could still be a serial killer, but he had that sort of niceness to his face that said he was mostly harmless. Though they said the same thing about Ted Bundy. “Dude. You scream like a girl,” the guy said then laughed a little behind his hand. 

“Shut up. You’re the one sneaking up on guys in broken down cars and scaring the life out of them,” Stiles accused, only to be faced with a frown. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just trying to help. What’s wrong with it?” 

“It stopped running.” 

“Do you know anything about cars?” 

Stiles shook his head. “No. You?” 

“No.” It would figure the only person to pull over to help Stiles wouldn’t actually be able to help him. “I can give you a lift somewhere though, if you want.” 

Stiles looked at the steering wheel, then the guy and wound up shrugging. “Yeah I guess. Just don’t kill me okay?” 

“Kill you? I’m not that bad of a driver.” 

“Yeah, but you could be a mad axe murderer!” Stiles proclaimed.

“Or... I could just leave you here.”

“No - no, it’s fine!” Stiles said, hurriedly getting out of the jeep and grabbing hold of the guy’s arm to stop him disappearing into the night. “It’s all good - I’m sure you’re not a serial killer. You’re _not_ a serial killer, right?”

The guy turned and pointed to the staff logo stitched in red cursive onto the left breast of his white polo, the words ‘Scott McCall’ printed below the Club’s sign. “No - not a serial killer. Just a guy working late and sent out to check the fourteenth green because there were reports of a couple of kids having sex in one of the bunkers.

Stiles probably should have noticed the polo. It was the same one everyone had been wearing all day. “That...actually makes more sense than you being a serial killer.” He let go of Scott’s arm and smiled weakly. “So...were they?” 

“Were they what?” 

“Having sex on the fourteenth hole? I mean a bunker is dedication. You’d get sand in places you don’t want sand right?” 

Scott stared at him blankly for a moment and Stiles wondered if his joke had gone awry before it seemed to click with Scott and he started laughing. ”Come on, man - do you mind if we just go back to the clubhouse for now? My shift’s not over for another half hour, so you can either get someone to come pick you up. Maybe call a tow truck for your car. Or I can give you a ride home once I’m done.”

Stiles looked at the jeep then shrugged. “Nowhere else to go I guess.” He started back towards the clubhouse, looking over at Scott. “So why’d they send you to check it out?” 

“Easy: I’m the most junior. Plus, they kinda knew that I probably would know whoever it was from school - so there’d be the humiliation factor thrown in. At least, there would be if I was the kind of guy whose opinion anyone at school _actually_ cared about,” Scott said, rolling his eyes.

Stiles squinted at him in the dark, taking in the floppy hair and the slightly crooked jaw line. “What grade are you in?” he asked, drawing back slightly as Scott leveled him a look that suggested that Stiles should really already know the answer to that.

“Same as you - just graduated. I’ve sat two rows behind you in bio this entire year, Stiles. Still, I guess you spent more time marking passages in highlighter colors than actually paying attention, so...”

Stiles frowned at himself not sure how he missed the guy and feeling terrible about it. He was pretty sure he’d been the most invisible person in school, but apparently not really. “Helps me study. The highlighters.” It didn’t. It was something to do and often he was just highlighting the times the teacher repeated word for word what was said in the book.

“That makes sense,” Scott commented. “That class was really hard - I only ever scraped through.” Which was a comment that made Stiles feel even worse, since he’d got great grades without ever really having to study for it.

“Why did you take it if it was hard?” he asked.

“I want to be a vet, so my courses were always science-heavy.”

“Wow - a vet? That’s...actually really awesome,” Stiles breathed, surprised in a way that had Scott glowing, even in the darkness.

“I know, right?” he gushed. “I work at the animal clinic during the day and I got accepted into State come fall on their programme.”

“So - why do you work here?”

“College is expensive, man. And it’s just my mom and me, and I don’t have scholarships. So, when my friend’s brother said that he could get me a job working evenings here over summer, I jumped at it.”

That made Stiles feel even lazier even if not having a job over the summer hadn’t been his idea. His idea would have been to work, but apparently he was meant to enjoy himself. “I guess there are worse summer jobs. It’s not a fast food burger place right?” 

“Exactly. I come home at night smelling of grass and rich women’s perfume. Trust me, it could be a _lot_ worse,” Scott joked and Stiles laughed along with him.

“I wanted to intern with my dad at the station this summer, but he has this whole thing about me having ‘one last summer of freedom’ before college or something,” Stiles admitted, wondering if Scott would think him an ass for that.

Apparently not, as Scott said, “Oh, that’s cool - though, honestly? Kinda boring? No offense, but being on the inside of the party you just went to? _Really_ not my kind of thing. I think I’d actually prefer to be working.”

“You and me both. I also missed the part where you’re supposed to hook up with someone so by the end of it, both of my friends bailed on me,” Stiles said with a roll of his eyes. “Does it get any better than that? I mean, I’m supposed to spend the summer up at this place with Lydia because she won’t let me just spend my summer of freedom playing Halo at four am.” 

“I love Halo at four am,” Scott said. “I’m terrible at it, but I love it. And no, not much better. Then again I’ve started seeing some of the staff parties and they make everything else look lame.” 

“ _Staff_ parties?” Stiles asked, as the club house came into view - bright lights on the dark horizon. They veered off the road and cut across the damp, dew-ridden grass of the second tee. “Is there a secret underground movement of things that aren’t entirely boring and geared toward people who want to go into politics for a living and ‘network’?” he asked, making little quote gestures at either side of his head, his tone dripping with disdain.

Scott made a face and nodded. “Yeah it’s call the rest of the world,” he said with a chuckle. “And yes, staff parties. We spend all our time here catering to rich boring people we have to blow off a little steam too. Considering half the staff is at least in college, you can imagine it makes every party you’ve ever been to seem completely lame.”

“And you’re my new best friend,” Stiles declared, slapping an arm round Scott’s shoulders and hugging him tight.

Scott didn’t shy away but he did look confused. “I am?” 

“Yes. Because you’re the single most interesting guy I’ve met all night and right now, I’m wondering where you’ve been all my life and how I’ve not known you before now.”

Scott laughed and pushed at Stiles’ side a little. “Two rows behind you considering throwing things at you head when you wouldn’t shut up.” 

“You wouldn’t be the first if you had,” Stiles joked, shrugging his shoulders as the two shared a laugh.

“I was actually more worried I’d miss and hit Lydia Martin, who is terrifying.” Scott admitted before smiling. “So...since we’re friends and all. There is a staff party tonight. You interested?” 

“Yes - god, yes. Take me to the staff party. And I can try and forget the rest of this night ever happened,” Stiles pleaded.

Scott laughed. “Alright fine, but I’m not explaining to the sheriff why his son is wasted at two in the morning. I’ll just leave you in your lawn if I have to.” 

“My dad’s working nights - so as long as he doesn’t have reason to bust us, I’m golden,” Stiles promised.

“Awesome. Give me like fifteen minutes to finish up work and we’ll head out?” 

“Done,” Stiles agreed as they reached the main building. Scott led him into the main building and then left him alone, heading off to do whatever it was he needed to do.

It didn’t take Stiles long to realise that the club was very different once everyone had left. The bar was eerily quiet, and dark with most of the lights out. The only illumination was from outside, where the pool lights were still on. Something about the twinkling gleam made Stiles think they were probably on round the clock.

Wandering over, he tried one of the sliding glass doors, which gave way, giving him access to the pool area. He walked out just in time to see a figure execute a triple backflip tuck from the top board, entering the water with barely a splash.

Stiles stopped where he was, watching from behind a closed umbrella as best he could, not wanting to interrupt. He could see the figure gliding under the water, distorted and wavering under the lights of the water, but he couldn’t quite make out who it was who could master something so graceful. 

The swimmer surfaced immediately in front of him. Close enough that Stiles took an instinctive step back as Hot Barman Lifeguard _Derek_ pulled himself out of the water and up onto the side in one smooth, continuous motion of dripping water and rippling muscles that made Stiles’ brain melt into a puddle on the floor.

“Stiles!” 

Stiles cringed at Scott’s voice and it was enough to Derek to look in the direction of the voice, eyes curious maybe something else until he spotted Stiles lurking and his eyes narrowed. Not two seconds later Scott bounding into him from behind grinning with one arm over his shoulder. “There you are. Oh hey Der,” Scott greeted the dripping wet hulk of everything with a wave. 

Stiles watched as Derek grabbed a towel from a lounger and started to rub himself dry. Never had Stiles wanted to be a piece of fluffy cotton so much in his entire life. It was entirely distracting - so much so that it took him a moment to realise that Scott was introducing him to the Greek God in a bathing suit.

“Stiles,” Stiles managed, dumbly as Derek looked at him as though he were a complete and utter moron.

“Huh?” Stiles’ living, walking wet dream asked.

“My name. Stiles.”

“What the hell is a Stiles?”

Stiles gestured to himself. “Me obviously. It’s a nickname.” 

“It’s short for Stilinski,” Scott piped in, bright smile on his face because he knew that bit of information. 

“So you’re Stiles Stilinski? What’s your real name? Because that one is terrible.” 

“Totally an actual improvement on my real name. Definitely not telling you what it is,” Stiles grumbled, trying not to stare or make eye contact because staring was rude and making eye contact made him lose any confidence Stiles had managed to build up over the past two years. 

“I invited him to the staff party,” Scott said. Stiles could hear the smile on his face - one that must have dropped off his face when Derek actually _groaned_.

“Scott - what the hell did you do that for? You know the rules - no consorting. He shouldn’t even be here. Why the hell is he here?” Derek asked, wrapping the towel round his waist and pulling on a dark grey henley.

“His car broke down and I said that I’d give him a ride home.”

“Then give him a ride home. He’s not coming to the party,” Derek said, firmly, wiggling out of his wet things under the towel and pulling on a pair of jeans. Stiles knew he needed to defend himself but he was too busy praying for the towel to fall away. 

“Aw come on Der. He’s nice. And he’s not like the others. He won’t tell.” 

“His dad’s the sheriff Scott. He was born to tell.”

Stiles didn’t think that was accurate and also didn’t like the way Derek said ‘sheriff’ like it was something dirty or whatever. “I’m not some six year old tattle-tale,’ he asserted, finally able to speak since Derek had finished putting on his jeans. He stood firm against the withering look Derek shot him as he hung the damp towel around his neck. 

“So, you want to come to our party?” Derek asked, eventually.

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, making himself meet Derek’s eyes and not get distracted by trying to work out what color they were. 

There was a long pause, then Derek shook his head and turned to jab a finger at Scott. “Fine - but he’s _your_ responsibility. He tells then it’s your neck on the line. I can’t afford to lose this job for this kid.”

“Not a kid!” Stiles called, but Derek was already walking away. “I’m not a kid,” he muttered, scuffing his shoe against the pool surround and hanging his head. “May be a moron, but I’m not a kid.”

Scott laughed and lightly punched him in the shoulder. “You’re not a moron either, dude. That’s just Derek - he hates everyone at first. Plus he kinda has this...thing about people who are members here. Like, he doesn’t get involved. Like at all. There was a...Anyway, I’m not meant to talk about it, but management kinda has it in for him. No matter what he does, he can’t catch a break. He’s good people though.”

“Nothing you said leans towards him being a good guy,” Stiles pointed out, but didn’t press the matter. Derek was gorgeous so it made sense that he’d be a bit of a jerk. It balanced out the beautiful right? No one was perfect. 

“Right. Maybe not. But trust me. He’s good. Come on. Let’s go.” 

“So... where we headed?” Stiles asked, wondering what it meant when Scott just grinned widely.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a good thing that the house was set right in the middle of the preserve, Stiles decided as they drew near. They had heard the sound of the thumping music a good five minutes before the building could be seen through the trees.

“What is this place?” he asked, raising his voice above the sound of the beat.

“Derek’s!” Scott sounded back as he opened the door and they headed inside.

Stiles looked up at the house before walking in then looked at Scott’s. How did Derek get his hands on a place like this? “Derek’s? No wonder he didn’t want me to come.” 

“What do you mean?” Scott asked, a confused puppy type expression on his face.

“Because if I rat the party out, he’s the one that gets in trouble because it’s his house and I’m pretty sure half the people that are here drinking aren’t legal to drink.” 

“But you’re not going to rat the party out, so there’s no problem, right?” Scott pointed out as he grabbed a couple of beers and handed one to Stiles.

“Right, but Derek doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know me. And I _am_ the sheriff’s kid.”

“Sounds like he just needs to get to know you, just like you need to get to know him. Perfect. Let’s go find him.” 

“F-find him? Who? Derek? There’s - we’re going to be finding...Derek?” Stiles spluttered, splurting beer down the front of his shirt. He tried scrubbing it off as he flicked his gaze, wide eyed between Scott and the stain. “Why...Why would we - I mean, Derek - he’s...And he hates me. And he doesn’t even want me here and he’s - I mean. Maybe he should get used to me being around first? Y’know, like - in the background? I could become a fixture and then maybe, when I’m like, forty, you could casually introduce us again and it’ll be like, ha ha - you’re that guy I hated. Maybe you’re not so bad after all.”

Scott tilted his head a little with confused look that left creases between his brow. “Why would we wait until you’re forty? Don’t you have like...one summer?” Scott shook his head and waved whatever Stiles had babbled out of the way. “I’ve been in the background it sucks. Plus you suck at being in the background. You’re best friends with Lydia Martin. You aren’t invisible dude, you’re bordering on popular. That means you’re cool. Let’s do this.” He hooked his fingers around Stiles hand and dragged him deeper in the house, closer to the thumping music. 

Stiles tried to point out that being friends with Lydia meant that background was all he ever was, but it was too loud and Scott wasn’t listening anyhow. Stiles was still protesting when they wound up in front of the large, blue velvet sofa, where Derek was sprawled, holding court with a gorgeous blonde woman and a simply huge black guy, who were hanging on his every word.

Derek trailed off what he was saying when he spotted Scott and Stiles, lips turning away from the half smile he’d had to something closer to a scowl. “Still not okay with him being here Scott.” 

“Aww, don’t be like that, Der,” the blonde drawled, leaning forward and pursing her blood red lips, looking at Stiles as if she wanted to eat him right up. Stiles resisted the urge to hide behind Scott. Quite frankly, she was intimidating. “He’s adorable,” she added.

“He’s the sheriff’s brat. He’s got no business being here.”

Blondie pulled herself smoothly up from the sofa, trailing a hand tipped with wicked nails across the front of Stiles’ shirt. “I’m Erica,” she purred, then moved quickly to step beside Stiles, looping an arm round his waist, and declaring to Derek, “I like him.”

“Then you keep him,” Derek shot right back at her.

Stiles managed to swallow back the pang of hurt that Derek was so willing to give him up to some strange woman. It wasn’t like he had any real claim on the guy but it put a damper on the lovely fantasy his mind had been cooking up since by the pool. “I’m Stiles,” he told Erica with a half smile, trying to seem confident but not quite hitting the mark. 

He held firm as Erica looked him up and down, practically undressing him with her eyes. “He’s cute, but not really my type,” she told Derek in the end. She looked sideways at him, her smile widening as she added, ”Are you, Stiles?”

Stiles swallowed hard, trying to seem casual, but knowing he was failing. He could feel Derek’s eyes on him, as well as Scott’s and the freight train of a human that didn’t have a name yet. “Um. I could be.” 

“See,” Scott said, mercifully saving Stiles from any more Erica, who looked like her comeback was already bubbling toward the surface of her silky smooth skin. “He’s harmless. He can’t even deal with Erica.” Stiles’ thankful feelings toward Scott ended right there, as he pulled a hurt and offended face. Then he caught sight of Erica again and thought about the way that her nails were gripping into his side and decided to keep his mouth shut for once.

“Means nothing. Took you three months to look her in the eyes,” Derek pointed out, eyes still trained on Stiles even as he spoke to Scott. 

Stiles met Derek’s gaze and then he eased himself out of Erica’s hold. Taking a step away, he very deliberately turned to Erica and looked directly at her, straight into her eyes. Erica, for her part, looked back and then dissolved into peels of laughter. “Oh hell, Der - we have to keep this one! He’s got some balls on him!”

Stiles looked back over at Derek in time to see the other man roll his eyes. “Fine then. You keep him Erica. I don’t want to be bothered.” He pulled himself up off the couch, barely sparing Stiles a glance. “I need another drink.” 

Stiles wilted, dropping down into the spot Derek had just vacated and then immediately wished he hadn’t. It was still warm and that just made him feel even more pathetic that he liked that.

Erica had stayed behind, though the dark skinned hulk had left with Derek. Stiles didn’t have to look at her to tell she was frowning at him, but what he didn’t expect was her to drop next to him, half curling into his side. “It’s not you you know. He’s like that with everyone.” 

“Yeah, that’s what Scott said,” Stiles told her, though he didn’t really believe it. He felt like he was being humoured by everyone as they tried to get him to doubt the obvious. Derek clearly hated him.

“Scott’s smarter than he looks, and he’s not the type to lie to people. Derek...takes a while to warm up to people. He assumes the worst and waits to see if they’ll prove him right or wrong,” Erica said.

“So, I’ve got to prove myself to him?” Stiles asked, disdainfully.

She fixed him a look, one that said she knew exactly what he was thinking. “You’ve got to decide whether you want to. Whether he’s worth it.”

Stiles shifted in his seat a little then looked at her. “Do you think he’s worth it?” 

Erica bit at her lip and looked up at Scott who shrugged. “Derek and I have kind of a different relationship from what you’d think. Or what you want.” 

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“The fact that I’m here right now should be answer enough.”

Stiles looked at her for a long moment then nodded. “So you two aren’t...” 

“No.” 

“Oh.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Erica said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not blind. There was a time when I thought that maybe...But no, and it’s better that way. He and I are...very different people.” Erica seemed content with that, and Stiles was about to ask more when she smiled a little too brightly and said, “We’re in danger of getting too serious here. So you and I are dancing!”

“I don’t really dance,” Stiles averred, thinking if the lectures Lydia gave him about how his ‘special brand of flailing’ was ‘in no way dancing, Stiles. People undergoing torture look better than you do dancing.’

“Even better,” Erica said, grabbing him by the wrist and hauling him off to the middle of the room to the crowd of wildly gyrating people there. It was clear she wasn’t going to let him go, and so Stiles enthusiastically started in on his signature moves - one hand clasped behind his head, elbow up in the air and he wiggled his legs back and forth, totally oblivious to the way Erica stopped dancing to first stare at him and the look around for some kind of backup.

She watched him for a moment more then grabbed his arm, pulling it down and dragging Stiles closer so quickly he stumbled forward. “Try again. Follow me.” He free hand dropped to his lower back, guiding him into a rhythm that felt slower, but still in time with the beat. 

Stiles went with it, but he felt awkward. She was so close, and he had no idea where to put his hands, or where to look and after the third time that he trod on her foot, she pulled back. “You have rhythm, but no sense of...” She broke off, shaking her head and then spinning him round and pushing him. Off balance, he slammed straight into the hard, muscled form of Derek. “You dance with him. He needs someone with better shoes until he gets a clue. I have to be...elsewhere,” she proclaimed, stalking off.

Derek’s hands tightened on Stiles’ shoulders where he caught him as Stiles stumbled, his eyes locked on Erica’s retreating form. For a long moment Stiles thought that Derek was going to follow her, but he didn’t, turning to look at Stiles instead. “You don’t have to dance with me,” Stiles said before Derek could reject him.

“You’re a terrible dancer,” Derek pointed out in a way that managed to be dour, yet also totally non-judgemental at the same time. It was a pure statement of fact, one that Stiles could get behind and which didn’t leave him feeling mortally offended or like he needed to defend himself the way he did when Lydia criticized him.

“I never really know what to do with my hands,” he admitted, tapping his fingers on Derek’s chest.

“By the looks of it, your feet either. You think too much,” Derek told him, setting them both swaying. “Let go. Put your hands on my waist. Look at my face, not your feet and try and switch your brain off to anything but the beat.”

Stiles let his hands drop towards Derek’s waist, relieved with the direction around where to put them, but not sure what to do with them once they were there. He wound up curling them around Derek’s torso, trying hard not to grip too tight. At the direction he looked up at Derek, which definitely managed to get him to stop thinking about what to do with his feet, but didn’t help him focus on the beat. Instead he was focused on Derek with little room for anything else. Especially when Derek shifted in, pulling Stiles toward him in one smooth movement until they were pressed hip to hip against each other and Derek slipped his arms around Stiles, not giving him anywhere to go even if he’d wanted to.

Stiles realized quickly that talking to Danny about having Derek by the pool was far easier than actually being up close and personal with him. He forced himself to try and hear the beat, to let the thumping set the rhythm of his heartrate, but after a moment he couldn’t tell if that was his heart pounding or the music. “So...uhhh... Look I know we-” 

“What did I say about thinking?” 

“To...not do it?” Stiles suggested.

“So, don’t.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Stiles. Stop.” Derek pressed his hand harder into Stiles’ back, hard enough to make him gasp softly. 

“Look at me,” Derek said, leaning in and speaking directly into Stiles’ ear in a way that made him shiver and clutch at Derek’s shirt, his legs feeling like they would turn to jello at any moment. “That’s right,” Derek added, his voice humming with approval. “Relax. Move your hips with mine. Loosen up and just move,” he practically purred.

Stiles swore under his breath at that voice, but the hand that trailed down his spine left him feeling boneless and unsure if his legs could hold him or not. It was probably what he needed though, his mind finally drifting away from how to dance and why Derek would try to use that voice, the warm breath against his ear, the hand pressed against his lower back. He wasn’t sure if he was still moving or not, but Derek’s hum sounded approving, which led Stiles to believe he was doing something right. 

He lost himself in the music, moving to Derek’s direction more by instinct than purpose, feeling like he was floating on some kind of cloud and loving every moment of it - right up until the moment the song ended and Derek stepped back before the next one started up. “See - you can do it, when you get over yourself,” he said, before turning and walking away, leaving Stiles feeling like the ground had just been pulled out from underneath him.

He sputtered for a moment, not sure how to make his legs work to follow after Derek or if he was even supposed to follow after him. What the hell was that? Stiles looked around for some help, but no one else seemed to notice. Thankfully Scott saved him a few moments later, banging into his back and grinning up at him with one arm slung around his shoulder. “There you are!” 

“Yeah, here I am. Definitely here. Right here,” Stiles agreed, aware that he was really lacking enthusiasm right now. Derek was a really hard act to follow and Stiles could feel himself scanning the room for sight of the man.

“Good. You need another drink. Let’s do that,” Scott said, pulling Stiles in the opposite direction that Derek had gone.

“A drink would definitely be good,” Stiles agreed, deciding that he needed to forget about Derek for the rest of the night. Across the other side of the room, he caught sight of Erica, slumped in a chair, her blonde curls half in her face. “Maybe not too much,” he added. She seemed to be totally out of it - he didn’t want to go that far.

“Of course not. I’d hate to have to leave you in your lawn,” Scott said, pulling at Stiles and grinning. 

“...And then I’d have to explain things to my dad. Good call, Scotty. Good call.”


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles was already at the stove when his dad came wandering down the next morning, yawning widely and rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “You had a late night last night - you weren’t in when I got home,” Stiles commented, flipping the bacon in the pan and grabbing a couple of eggs to fry up.

“We had a call about some trouble over at the old mill,” his dad replied, taking a seat at the table and waiting for his breakfast. It was a ritual that they’d pieced together over the years. One that had become fully developed only when Stiles had started staying out late. Rule one: whoever got home first, made breakfast. Given the late shifts his father pulled as Sheriff, even on party nights that often ended up being Stiles.

“Anything interesting?” Stiles asked, checking on the toast.

“In the end, not at all. We’ve been trying to crack a drug ring that’s making a few waves in town, but they’re being damn elusive.”

“Drugs?” Stiles asked, his interest peaked. There was no secret he would prefer to have been in on the investigation than what he had been doing last night - even if last night had involved dancing with Derek.

“Stiles,” his father said, warningly. “One last summer, remember. You’re not getting involved with cases. I shouldn’t even have told you that much - I blame being half asleep.”

“Which is why it’s such a wonderful time to ask you questions,” Stiles said, without any remorse at all. His father had been the one to teach him that sometimes you had to use all of the resources at hand to get to your goal.

“And is the reason why we’re now not going to be talking about me.” 

“You could tell me under the guise of looking out for my well being,” Stiles tried. “Not wanting me to fall in with the wrong crowd and all of that.” The look his father sent him over the coffee pot clearly said that wasn’t going to work and Stiles sighed, setting their food on plates and bringing everything to the table. 

“How was your night last night?” the Sheriff asked as he picked up the salt pot, only for Stiles to pluck it from his fingers before he could add anything to the breakfast.

“Last night was fine,” Stiles said, placing the salt out of his father’s reach. “Went to a party at the club with Lydia and Danny. Lydia spent most of the night talking to some guy, Danny disappeared with some other guy and I wound up talking to the daughter of the man who owns the place.”

“Peter Hale’s daughter?” Stiles almost groaned at the way his father’s tone perked up with the question.

“That’d be the one,” he said, with far less enthusiasm than his father was displaying.

“What’s she like? Pretty?”

Stiles shrugged. “Pretty yeah.” Because as odd as Malia was, she was pretty. “Bit weird sometimes, but she’s nice enough.” He kept his head down and concentrated on his eggs, ignoring the long and assessing look that his father was giving him.

“I can never tell,” Sheriff Stilinski said, after a moment or two. “When you get like this - you’re either harbouring a massive crush that you’re trying to hide from me, or you don’t know what to make of her yet. I’m not going to try and persuade you, but... You deserve to be happy, Stiles. You carried a torch for Lydia for so long and it’s great that you guys are such good friends now. But it would be good if you could find someone special to have in your life.”

“I’m going to college in a few months, dad,” Stiles pointed out.

“That shouldn’t stop you from enjoying yourself. Especially if you’re interested in her. I don’t see a point in not learning more about her while you have the time.”

“Are we adding summer fling to the list of things I’m supposed to accomplish this summer?”

“Will that make you try at least?”

“Is it that important to you?” Stiles asked, finishing off the last of his toast and reaching for the coffee.

His father sighed, pushing his half finished breakfast away. Stiles knew his habits well enough to know it wasn’t a comment on the quality of his cooking, rather that there was something on the man’s mind, overruling his stomach. “I worry that, since your mother died and it’s just been the two if us, you’ve missed out on some of the normal teenage things.”

“I haven’t missed out on anything!” Stiles proclaimed immediately, instinctively. He didn’t want his dad thinking for a moment that he’d been anything less than a wonderful father. Best dad in the world material.

“Stiles - how many teenage boys do you think voluntarily cook breakfast on a Sunday?”

“I haven’t missed out on anything important,” Stiles amended, without missing a beat.

“Surprisingly enough Stiles, the little things that don’t seem important are the most important,” his father said with a sigh.

“Like having a summer with no consequences and all the cliche frills?”

“I’m ignoring your sarcasm and saying yes. I’m glad we see eye to eye. How about you invite her over for dinner this week? What kind of food does she like?”

“Pizza,” Stiles said, feeling like he was on a roll with the quippy comebacks.

That one didn’t get past his father though, as the Sheriff levelled a doubtful look at him. “I thought pizza’s your favourite food.”

“It is.”

“And it happens to be her favourite as well? You know this? You’ve talked about this? You’re not just using this as an excuse to have pizza?”

“Guess you’ll never know will you?” Stiles asked. His father rolled his eyes and got up from the table.

“See if she can come to dinner tomorrow night. I promise I’ll be home. And, sure, I’ll bring pizza,” he promised, with that resigned tone Stiles was so used to. They both knew when to pick their battles, and arguing over what to have for dinner wasn’t that important in the Stilinski household. Well, not unless it was Stiles micromanaging his father’s diet to ensure he stayed healthy. Really, Stiles figured his dad should be grateful he was allowed greasy pizza food.

“I’ll ask, but I’m not making promises that she’ll be there,” Stiles agreed. “Which is fine because it just means more pizza for me.”

“And me,” his dad agreed, with a twinkle in his eyes that Stiles disapproved of.

Pointing at his father, he shook his head. “No, not ‘and you’. You get pizza for one. Any spares and I get them. Me. Teenage boy remember. Eating everything in sight goes with the territory.”

The sheriff gave his son a tired and pleading look, but not yet exasperated. There was always a chance that he could get there. “Look, if you don’t stick around, who’s going to keep my love life in check?”

“To be fair, for that to be a real question, you should probably have some kind of history of a love life.”

Stiles gaped at his father. Maybe it was true - he’s never actually dated per se - but still, it was cruel to put it that bluntly.

The sheriff nodded, pointing at his son. “Yes. I went there. Ask the girl over for dinner. Do it for me.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles shook his head. “Sir, yes sir,” he half quipped with a sigh. It looked like Malia was coming to dinner.

\-----

“Good morning, welcome again to Beacon Hills Country Club,” the guy in the uniform polo shirt at Stiles and Lydia when they pushed their way through the main doors of the club. Stiles glanced at his nametag - apparently his name was Isaac. “We’ve got another great day planned. There’s a shuffleboard tournament out by the tennis courts at two, and aquatic aerobics starting in twenty minutes. You can still make it if you hurry.” The whole thing would have been interesting if Isaac didn’t look and sound completely bored with everything.

“Aren’t you supposed to be peppy or something Mr. Activity Coordinator?” Stiles quipped, which earned him a glare.

“Or you could you know, bite me.” Isaac smiled brightly, too brightly and overly fake and Stiles was ready to point out that it wasn’t 2003 and the line didn’t quite work, but Lydia had her hand on his arm, pulling him away.

“That’s fine. Thanks Isaac. We’re headed to get lunch,” she said sweetly, giving Stiles her own glare once they were out of range.

“Lunch? I thought we were headed to the pool. There’s aquatic aerobics that we’re missing out on Lydia.”

“No. Lunch. We’re going to chat. You seemed friendly with the boss’ daughter last night.”

“Did I? Did you notice? How did you notice? You were busy yourself weren’t you?”

“I make a point to notice everything Stiles. I thought you realised that last night,” Lydia told him as they sat down at a cloth-covered table and she plucked a menu from the holder and perused it as though she didn’t already have the entire thing memorised as like they didn’t already both know she would be ordering the chef salad with grilled chicken and low fat dressing. Stiles wondered if that ‘knowing everything’ included the fact that his car had broken down and he’d gone to a staff party. He very much doubted it did.

“When you say it like that you sound like some sort of evil mastermind. Which by the way, I thought you were for two weeks and then I was wrong, so you can’t convince me again that you are. Don’t even try.” Stiles gave her his best warning tone, then scanned over the menu. He would probably go with a little more variety, but it wasn’t like the offerings were that complicated. “What did you want to talk about?” 

“I want to talk about you. And Malia Hale,” Lydia said firmly, once their water glasses had been filled and they were alone once again.

“How about we don’t - how about we talk about you and the eye candy in his dad’s jacket that you ditched me for?” Stiles countered, mirroring Lydia’s put on, sickly sweet, I’m-just-interested-in-your-life-because-I’m-your-friend smile right back at her.

Lydia sighed as if Stiles was frustrating, but he got what he wanted when she went with the subject change. “I did not ditch you. We only had a plan to go to the party.” 

“Which I assumed meant I was driving you home! Who is this guy that’s so much better than I am?” 

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her water, leaving Stiles impatiently hanging until she was ready to answer. “I told you last night - his name is Jackson Whittemore. Honestly, we _did_ got to school together for two years. He graduated when we were sophomores. He’ll be starting his junior year at Harvard next semester.” Checking out her nails, she mused, “It’s got him going everywhere he dreamed of and I’m thinking that I might get him to take me along with him.”

Stiles stared at her in disbelief. “Seriously? Lyds - you’re really going to play that card? When you and I both know that you’re more than capable of getting anywhere in the world you like without having to hang off the coat tails of _some guy_!”

“Jackson Whittemore is not ‘some guy’, Stiles! He’s...” she sighed, dreamily, much to Stiles’ despair.

“Oh I’m going to be sick,” Stiles grumbled before sitting up and shaking his head. “Lydia, you’re joking. This is so not you. Sure, crush or fawn or whatever this is over him, but you don’t need to hitch your wagon to anyone. Let alone him. No matter how...” Stiles waved his arms about a bit to represent her face. “No matter how lack of an actual word he is or how trailing off into dreamy sighs he is. He’s a dude. He got into Harvard because of his parents are rich and he was the captain of the lacrosse team. Not because he’s actually smart.”

Lydia sat up and pointed at him. “Ha! I _knew_ you remembered him and you didn’t just randomly become bi in the last twelve months! You remember he was captain of the lacrosse team!” she crowed as Stiles slumped back into his chair and draped a hand across his face.

“Sure, maybe he was _vaguely_ familiar...”

“He’s totally your type!”

“He’s not my type. He was a douche who used to give me a wedgie at practice,” Stiles muttered, remembering the days before he was Lydia’s best friend and hence popular by association. The days when he was the social outcast. A freshman benchwarmer for the lacrosse team with hopes that being on the team would get him associates, if not actual friends. Those had been the days when all he had wanted was someone who would acknowledge his existence in the halls. Instead there had been Jackson. He was someone who Stiles had spent the last two years trying really hard to forget. He’d almost managed it as well. He hadn’t recognised the guy until the repeated use of his actual name had forced the suppressed memories back to the surface.

“So he’s your type,” Lydia repeated, as if that was that. 

“I do not have a type and if I do then it’s not the kind of person that causes me bodily harm or treats me like dirt that they stepped in...oh god I have a type.” Stiles groaned a little and pointed at Lydia. “This is your fault and I am not into Jackson and neither should you. He’s a jerk and not the surface level jerk you are.” 

Taking another sip of her water, Lydia said, “You’re really not all that masochistic, you know. Stop worrying. You just like a challenge. You like a significant other you actually have to work for. I know you - if someone’s immediately into you, you’re far too cynical and want to know what’s wrong with them, or what their angle is. You feel safer with someone who you have to prove yourself to. I mean, it’s weird, but it’s just who you are.”

“We’re not talking about me,” Stiles countered. “We’re talking about you and your sudden leap off the path to mathematical greatness to vie for the role of nineteen fifties housewife.”

“I’ll have you know I make a mean cherry pie.”

“And still not the point, Lydia! You know me? Well I know you and your type is the guy who has it all - and who’s just waiting to learn that what he really wants to do is give it all up for you.”

Lydia shrugged. “A girl can change.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “That’s the kind of change that all the pamphlets say are warning signs for a more serious condition.”

Lydia fixed him with a look, leaning on the table with both her elbows. “You don’t need to be concerned about me, Stiles.”

“All of this is an afterschool special amount of red flags for concern,” Stiles pointed out.

“I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself. Now - tell me about Malia,” Lydia said, warning him off the conversation. Stiles knew when to take a hint. Or, at least, when to back off and come at it again another day from a slightly different angle.

“There’s nothing to tell. We hung out at the party, she likes boys and I’m supposed to ask her to dinner at my place this week.” He let the last part trail off into a mumble in hopes that maybe Lydia wouldn’t pick up on it or might let it slide. He knew better, but it didn’t stop him from trying and hoping her new boyfriend outlook had her distracted enough to not care about Stiles’ life like she normally might. 

Lydia, though, seemed determined to keep the conversation fixed on him. There were times that Stiles really hated her laser-like focus. “Dinner with daddy already - must be serious.”

“We haven’t even gone on a date,” Stiles deadpanned. “I haven’t even _asked_ her on a date.”

“So your first date is dinner with your dad?” 

“No. Well...yeah. That’s bad isn’t it?” 

“Stiles, it’s like two centuries ago bad. You’ll be talking about ‘courting’ or ‘walking out together’ next.”

“If it were two centuries ago I wouldn’t have to worry about dating. Someone would have picked out my wife already considering my father’s place in the city,” Stiles grumbled. “So I should take her out, just us, and then take her to dinner with my dad?” 

“Meeting the parents is considered to be a very big step, Stiles,” Lydia lectured, as Stiles tried not to visibly wince at the word ‘parents’. He knew Lydia didn’t mean it like that, is was just the way it was. She hadn’t forgotten his mother’s death, or that it was a touchy subject for Stiles.

“Dad was pretty insistent,” he said with a shrug, chewing on the side of a nail, nervously. This whole thing felt really uncomfortable, and he wasn’t sure whether it was because he had practically zero experience at all of this, or whether it was because Malia was, well, kinda weird. He wasn’t even sure that he liked her like that. Unfortunately, everyone around him seemed to want him to like her like that and he really didn’t want to disappoint.

“Since when has that stopped you from doing something before?” Lydia asked. 

Stiles opened his mouth, then verbally failed somewhat. “I...just...I know when it really means something to him, okay. I don’t want to disappoint him when it means something.”

Lydia seemed to understand that and her face shifted slightly, something softer that Stiles didn’t see as often as he would like. “I know you don’t honey,” she said finally, though the pet name didn’t come with the condescending tone it usually did. “Does it mean something to you? Having her over?”

Stiles shrugged, unsure of the answer to that. “I know it means something to him,” he said, knowing that as far as Stiles was concerned, that was enough. Malia would come over for dinner - unless she turned him down, which Stiles knew from experience was a possibility, even though this time he doubted she would.

Lydia watched him long enough for him to squirm under the attention. “Do you like her?” 

“I don’t really know her, yet.”

I didn’t ask if you were in love with her and wanted to plan a future with her, I asked if you liked her. I think that should be something you figured out after a night talking right? Do you want to see her again?” 

Stiles pushed distracting thoughts of dancing from his head. The feeling of a firm body against his, strong arms holding him close. The cold, empty feeling as it abruptly ended. “She’s pretty,” he acknowledged.

“So am I and you’re not interested in me anymore,” Lydia said discounting his answer. 

“You don’t count,” Stiles retorted, twitching a smile. “Though, for what it’s worth, if I brought you home for dinner in that way, dad would be thrilled. He loves you, you know.”

“What’s not to love?” Lydia grinned at him, but it slipped at the corners. “You’re not asking me to come home with you and pretend we’re dating are you? I’m not doing that.” 

Stiles’ eyes widened and he narrowly avoided spitting his mouthful of water all over her. Instead, he swallowed heavily, shaking his head. “No - _god_ no. Dad would see through that in a moment anyway. He’d never believe that someone like you would actually go for someone like me. There’d have to be cast iron evidence to the contrary and even then he’d probably be looking for the catch. No, I’m not...I’m not going to do something like that.”

Lydia kicked him under the table. “Don’t say that about yourself. I might have gone out with you.” Stiles guessed that wasn’t true, but he got the idea. No putting himself down.

“Sure - you say that now. I’m just...There’s Malia and she’s...fine. And dad likes the idea of her. So-” He took a deep breath and added, determinedly, “I’m going to go ask her for dinner. Tomorrow night. Before I can change my mind.”

“She’s right over there if you’re worried you’ll change your mind in the next five minutes,” she added, nodding towards the entrance of the restaurant. 

Stiles followed her line of sight and there was Malia, dressed in short shorts, over the knee socks and a standard country club polo shirt that was small enough to shape to her body. It was a look that, surprisingly, really worked for her. He couldn’t deny that she was very definitely physically attractive. Probably enough so to be out of his league. He knew that, rationally, he should be thrilled. Especially as, when she noticed him looking at her, she immediately cut off the guy she’d been talking to in what appeared from a distance to be a pretty rude way, and immediately came his way.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Lydia declared, despite the fact that she had ordered food. Delicately dabbing at the corners of her mouth, she lay her crisp linen napkin down at the side of her place setting and stood, despite all of Stiles’ entreaties that she should stay. “Don’t be silly, Stiles,” she dismissed. “You don’t want me here for this. I’ll talk to you later. I have to go find Jackson anyway.”

“We need to talk more about that you know!” Stiles said in some attempt to get Lydia to stay but she just waved over her shoulder at him. Before he could protest louder, Malia had taken her place across from him. 

“Hey Stiles!” She smiled at him brightly. “Where’d your friend go?” 

Stiles turned to her with a wide grin that was only half lie. “Away. Hey, Malia, how are you doing?”

“Fine, I guess,” she said, poking at Lydia’s food like she couldn’t work out why someone would just leave it. “I’m at work which isn’t exactly fun.” She looked up at him and shrugged, like that explained everything. “You were looking at me. Did you want something?” 

“Er, yeah, I suppose.” Stiles realised suddenly that was probably the exact wrong thing to say. “I mean, yeah. Yes! I do. I was...wondering if you would...like to have dinner. With me. I mean. At my house. I mean. Come over. To my house. For dinner. Tomorrow night. With my dad. And me.”

Malia stared at him like what he said hadn’t made sense and Stiles squirmed in his chair under it, wishing he’d managed to string that sentence together a little better. After a long minute though Malia shrugged again. “Yeah sure. That sounds fine. What are we eating?” 

“Pizza?” Stiles suggested, hopefully.

Malia nodded. “I like pizza.” 

“Great! Great - so, say, seven?” Stiles said. He suddenly had a thought and started patting himself down for a pen there was no way he was going to be carrying, saying, “I’ll give you my address.”

“I’ll get it from our files,” Malia promised, as though that was the obvious answer, leaving Stiles feeling like a fool.

“Right. Do that. So seven then?” 

Malia nodded and got up. “Seven’s fine. I’ll see you there.” 

Stiles watched, mouth shape, as she walked away, finding it hard to believe that had actually just happened. Maybe she wasn’t his perfect person, but he’d just asked someone out and they’d actually said yes! The reality of the situation hit him suddenly and he did a little shuffling dance and fist pump in his seat, grinning broadly.

“Dude...You might actually be really weird.” 

Stiles looked over his shoulder to find Scott there holding a busboy bucket full of plates from other tables. “Scott! My man!” He couldn’t help but grin at his new friend because a girl he’d asked out had just said yes. Best day ever without a doubt. “I didn’t know you worked in here.” 

“I work everywhere no one else wants to. Which means bussing tables at lunch. You done with that?” Scott pointed at Stiles’ plate. 

Stiles hadn’t touched his food, but who needed sustenance when he had a date? “Sure. Done,” he said. Then grabbed a handful if curly fries and stuffed them into his mouth because sustenance requirements or not - _curly fries_.

Scott gave him another look before shrugging and taking the plate. “What’s got you so chipper? Same thing as last night?” 

The highlights of the night before flashed through Stiles’ brain and he blushed deeply, his eyes widening as he realised that none of them involved Malia and they mostly - entirely - revolved around dancing up close and personal with a certain lifeguard-come-barman. “Last night?” he asked, his voice an embarrassingly high pitched squeak.

“Yeah you were making that face last night. Something good happen again? Or just still reeling from...whatever?” Scott sounded genuinely interested like he was just trying to be a good friend. “You okay?” 

“I asked Malia out and she said yes,” Stiles told him, skipping out on the part where that really wasn’t what he’d been so happy about yesterday, together with the fact that it wasn’t actually the _Malia_ part of that so much that he was happy about, and more the _yes_ part. 

“Malia? Malia Hale?” Scott asked, and Stiles could hear the doubt in his new friend’s voice, before Scott seemed to remember himself and straightened a little, plastering a smile onto his face. “Hey, that’s cool dude, if you like her.” Stiles wasn’t sure, but he thought that he could almost hear an unspoken ‘someone has to’ hanging in the air between them.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Scott. “Do you not? Like her?” 

Scott looked as innocent as possible, but Stiles had seen that real innocence and he could tell that he was putting it on. “Um, I don’t not like her? She’s just different that’s all. Probably be great for you considering.” 

“Considering what?” Stiles pressed. “Considering that nobody else ever has shown any interest in me? Considering that I’m pretty much a total loser, despite the people I hang out with? Considering that I’m a mess of barely controlled ADHD and terrible co-ordination and my dad considers it a success if I get through a day without breaking anything? Because, all of that’s right, but it’s kind of rude to say it to a guy’s face!”

Scott’s eyes widened a little and shook his head. “I meant more considering you weren’t like all the other people that are members here. Plus I’ve got asthma bad enough that walking across the golf course might kill me and I’m a loser. Dude, _you_ didn’t even know who I was. I wasn’t calling you a loser.”

Stiles winced, taking the smack down even though Scott didn’t seem pissed. He didn’t need to be, Stiles could police himself when it came to his behavior - overly aware of how he could be viewed and wanting people to like him, even if he always assumed they wouldn’t. “Sorry, man - I just...Guess I always spring to the worst conclusions.”

Scott shrugged. “Yeah, I get that. Been there. Cool though, about the date. What are you going to do?” 

“My dad wants her to come over for dinner.” Which, he realized, was sounding more and more lame as a first date option every time he said it.

Scott nodded. “My mom would want the same thing,” he agreed. 

“Yeah, but would you actually do it?” Stiles deadpanned, rolling his eyes at himself.

Scott thought about the for a long moment then shrugged. “Maybe. It’s never really been an issue.” 

“Yeah, not for me either,” Stiles agreed, then slapped his hand down on the table. “Dude! How have we not been friends for years? I can’t believe I’m only meeting you just now! It’s insane!”

“I honestly have no idea.” Scott smiled at that though, a big goofy grin for Stiles. “At least we are now! Oh and if you want, there’s another gathering tomorrow night.” 

“Another party? Sure, cool, I...Shit. I have a date tomorrow night,” Stiles sighed, deflating and slumping back in his chair. “Maybe next time?” he suggested.

“Definitely next time,” Scott said with a smile. “Bummer you won’t be there. It’s nice having someone there, but you’ve got better things to do.” 

Stiles wasn’t so sure of that, but he didn’t correct Scott as he finished clearing the table, balancing plates expertly on one arm. He knew that he shouldn’t probably feel this way - that it really shouldn’t be that he would prefer to be at a party where it had been made blatantly clear he wasn’t welcome, than going on a date with the girl he’d just asked out. Still, he had chosen his path and now he’d walk it - something he didn’t share with Scott as they said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles launched himself back onto the bed, landing spread-eagled amongst the piles of clothes that he had bought today. His father was going to have an aneurysm when he saw the credit card bill. All the great work Stiles had been doing with making sure he kept to a heart healthy diet was going to be undone in a microsecond, all because he didn’t have the willpower to hold firm against his two best friends.

“Stiles get up.” Lydia had one hand on his arm, pulling him off the pile of new clothes. “You just bought everything. You don’t have to roll around in it like a dog.”

“What you need to do is hang everything up and pick out something to wear tonight,” Danny said from where he was on Stiles’ computer at his desk. Completely without permission, though at this point it was beyond protesting. Danny had hacked his passwords ages ago.

“You guys should just leave me here - I’m picturing everything you made me buy as a big pile of money and this is the closest I’m gonna get to rolling round in it. Hell, it’s gonna look better this way than it does on anyway,” Stiles proclaimed, making a show of rolling round on the bed. He ended up with a dark red shirt over his eyes and a pair of designer jeans wrapped round one thigh.

“Stiles Stilinski. Stop.” Lydia picked up a book from his nightstand and smacked him with it, hard enough that he had to wonder how often she did that sort of thing.

“I’m taking that as an insult,” Danny said from the computer where he was probably changing Stiles’ background to something he didn’t want it to be. “You really think Lydia and I would have gone through all of that effort just to put you in clothes you don’t look good in? That’s insulting our abilities to turn even a beast into a beauty.”

“Yeah a beast of burden,” Lydia quipped and smacked him again.

“Hey!” Stiles protested, head whipping between the two of them, jaw dropping slack with offence. Or, at least, the imitation of it, as he said, “I could be a beauty! It’s not just skin deep, you know!”

“Yes, Stiles - we know,” Lydia said, her tone long suffering, as she started to pry his new purchases out from under him and hang them in his closet. “But we also know you - and as much as we love and adore you, you’re an acquired taste, sweetie.”

“Acquired taste is a nice way of saying weird isn’t it?” Stiles asked, shifting only slightly as she pulled a shirt out from under him.

“Yes,” Danny answered from the computer. “Though you don’t really have to be, first impression-wise. That’s what the clothes are for. The rest...well we can’t help you there.”

Stiles sat up, pulling a crumpled hat out from under him and tossing it in Danny’s general direction. Why the hell Danny thought he was a hat person, he had no idea. He wasn’t convinced that he could pull off a fedora. It’d be cool though. “I had this conversation with Lydia the other day - I really don’t think that I want to be trying to attract people who aren’t going to be in me for me. The whole ‘living a lie’ thing doesn’t do it for me. If someone’s going to be into me, then I want them to be, y’know, into me.”

“Right,” Danny snorted. “Which is why you’re having the boss’ daughter come over for dinner, even though you can’t even sound convincing when you try and say you want her to. Face it, Stiles. You’re an eighteen year old virgin, understandably desperate for attention. You can talk all you like about what you actually want in a significant other, but when it comes down to it, you’ll take whatever you can get.”

“It’s even more of a whatever he can get now that the pool has been expanded to include guys,” Lydia added, freeing another shirt from under him. “And yes sweetie, we know, someone who likes Star Wars and World of Whatever and all those things, but I’m sure you’ll find a lovely nerd at college. Right now, you’re looking for someone to expand your horizons and that’s not going to work without a little bit of polishing.”

Danny caught Stiles eye, with his widest smile. “Trust me,” he said, dropping a wink. “You’ll enjoy the polishing.”

“Danny!” Lydia threw the book at him this time, bouncing it off his chest. “Both of you. I swear. Get up Stiles and tell me what you’re going to wear on your date.”

“God! Clothes!” Stiles exclaimed, grabbing a t-shirt at random and holding it up - much to the twin looks of disgust from his two best friends, who clearly didn’t approve.

“No, Stiles. Just no,” Lydia proclaimed.

“I don’t know,” Danny countered, with a shrug. “That might just work if he paired it with the new dark wash jeans we bought - and I could loan him my leather jacket. It would finish it off. Give him an edge.”

“Sure - an edge if you were taking him to Jungle. But not for dinner with his dad. Which is hardly going to be the social event of the season,” Lydia pointed out. Stiles tried to input something, but she dismissed him before he could get a word out - apparently this was a conversation between herself and Danny. “He needs to not look like he’s trying too hard.”

“But at the same time he wants to look appealing to make up for the fact that his first date is dinner with his _dad_. Something to keep her interested in time without dad later.”

“Hmm,” Lydia mused, tapping a manicured nail on her lip. She’d changed them to light pink recently, something soft and girlier than she usually went with. “What about the button down with the jeans? In the green?”

“The green shirt?” Danny mused, finally turning back from the laptop and focusing in on Stiles - who really was feeling more and more like a Ken doll with every minute. “Yes, that could work. It’d really bring out his eyes.” Danny leveled a look at Stiles. “They’re your best feature, really. At least, until you figure out how to properly work the rest of you.”

Stiles hesitated not sure if he was supposed to be involved in the conversation before shrugging. “Thanks? I guess? I don’t know.”

“Thanks works fine,” Lydia said, gathering up the clothes that had been mentioned. “Here, change.”

Stiles took the clothes and wilted, feeling like there was something he was really missing. “Why is this such a big deal?” he asked, helplessly. “It’s just a girl. It’s just pizza. I feel like I’m trying too hard.”

Lydia and Danny shared a look, but surprisingly for Stiles, it was Danny who came forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You know, you don't have to do this,” he said, with more kindness that had been apparent in their high school friendship - one that had mostly been about mutual jokes and who could get in the better cutting comment. “I get that you haven’t been the most popular guy when it comes to the whole relationship thing, but, really - there’s more to life.”

Stiles watched Danny for a long moment, then glanced over his shoulder at Lydia who was actually worrying at her bottom lip. He sighed and nodded. “I know I don’t. I know you’re trying to help. I’m just not sure what I’m doing here. If it’s that big of a deal I don’t think I can keep up. I don’t want to let anyone down.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Stiles. It’s just a date. You’re not going to achieve world peace, or avert the oncoming apocalypse depending on whether she wants to see you again or not.”

“I could. Butterfly effect, Danny. That could all be related.” Stiles knew Danny was right, but he wasn’t about to agree without a fight when they were making him change his overall look while they stood there and stared or waited to see the final product.

“You are such a drama queen,” Lydia proclaimed, breaking the moment between Stiles and Danny with a huff. “Yes, she’s just a girl. Yes, it’s just pizza, but that’s no reason not to try - and get into the habit of trying. That way, when ‘the one’ or whatever romantic notion has wormed its way into that head of yours, appears, you won’t fail to impress them. If it helps at all, think of this as a trial run.”

Despite the pending date with Malia, Stiles’ thoughts immediately went to Derek. “What if they’re already not really impressed? I mean...I’m still me.” He was changing though, pulling off the t-shirt he’d had on and pulling on the button down that Lydia had picked out.

“If they’re not impressed, they’re not worth it,” Lydia said, quickly enough to be dismissive of the idea. Which was fine, Stiles thought, when you were Lydia Martin and the whole world wanted you. Yet still she was chasing after Jackson Whittemore and while Stiles didn’t have concrete, incontrovertible proof that the guy was an ass, he was figuring he wasn’t all that far off the mark with that assessment.

“But let’s say they are. And maybe they’re not impressed by a lot of people.” Stiles finished with the shirt and changed out of his gym shorts reaching for the new jeans that Lydia had already pulled the tags off of. “But they’re like...really worth impressing.”

Danny arched a brow, leaning back in Stiles’ desk chair. “That sounds like you have someone particular in mind - and definitely not this girl you have coming over tonight,” he mused, causing Stiles to blush and busy himself with pulling on the jeans, sucking in a breath as he fastened the tight denim round his waist.

“Not that it matters,” Lydia said and Stiles could have kissed her in that moment for getting him out of having to go into the details that he could see that Danny was dying to ask for. “You have a date with Malia tonight. You asked her out, Stiles. So you don’t get to be the jerk who goes into that really thinking about someone else. You’re better than that.”

Maybe he didn’t want to kiss her anymore because that just made him feel like the jerk she’d just described. “It’s not like that,” he insisted though in a way it was because if given the choice he’d be dropping the idea of dating Malia in a hot minute. “It’s just...a curiosity. I want to test your theory that the clothes make the man.”

Lydia pursed her lips and stood back, crossing her arms and giving Stiles the once over. It was unnerving, especially when Danny joined in, but he supposed he had actually asked for it. “So,” she said, consideringly. “We’re having an entirely theoretical conversation about what you might do if you liked someone who’s very hard to impress and doesn’t like what they see when they look your way?” she surmised. Stiles nodded, his face falling at the way that she put that.

“What’s this theoretical person into?” Danny asked. “What’s their type? Can we at least make orientation a given. Chasing after a total impossibility isn’t even worth talking about.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Sure, I know I can’t turn someone - I’m not that much of a dick to even try. So, yeah, for this _entirely theoretical_ conversation, let’s make that a given. It’s not what I am, it’s more...who I am.”

Lydia looked at Danny, who just shrugged, and then she sighed. “You can’t really change who you are, love,” she started and Stiles fought the urge to roll his eyes. He knew that much. “But you can change the way someone looks at you. Make yourself seem like more than just ‘a guy’ and more like ‘the guy’.”

“The guy that they notice. If they’re hard to impress, then be impressive. Be the guy that turns heads when he walks into the room. Be unignorable, without making a big deal of it. Be memorable. Then they’ll come to you,” Danny agreed.

“Without making a big deal. So my normal routes of being noticed are out?” Stiles asked and Danny nodded looking hard like he was trying to roll his eyes.

“Just smile, Stiles. Know that I wouldn’t put you in anything you’d look bad in and smile.” Lydia fixed his collar then stood back and looked at her handiwork.

Stiles smiled, overly widely, knowing full well that hadn’t been what Lydia had meant, even before he was met with the twin glares of disapproval. He let the smile fade into something more natural and rolled his shoulders. Pulling at the collar of the shirt a little and feeling like he was being half strangled by the fit, he complained, “I just wish that I could do all that wearing things I feel comfortable in.”

“What’s uncomfortable about it?” Lydia asked, steering Stiles towards his mirror and standing behind him. “Because it’s honestly not _that_ far removed from what you usually wear. It fits, which is a nice start because you’ve got actual arms and abs and things, but just because it’s not plaid or doesn’t come with a hood doesn’t make it that different.”

“Fits feels too tight,” Stiles told her, looking himself up and down, critically. Objectively, he was impressed with his reflection, but he wasn’t sure that he felt like _him_. It was like having a familiar, better looking stranger look back at him - which he supposed was the idea.

Lydia looked at Danny, then back at Stiles before letting out a breath. “I’m going to say this once and it never leaves this room okay?” Stiles raised his eyebrows at her, but didn’t say anything, waiting to see what it was she was so hesitant about admitting to. “You could wear clothes that were painted on and people wouldn’t object. You could probably walk around in your boxers and people wouldn’t complain beyond being too distracted to work or pay attention to where they are going. You’re good looking Stiles. I’m sorry. You’re just going to have to accept that.”

“It’s a burden. But with great power comes great responsibility,” Danny said as seriously as possible and Stiles’ whole face went with the confusion he felt.

“Did you just quote Spiderman at me...about being hot?”

“I’m learning to speak your language.”

Stiles stared at him, slack jawed. “If you weren’t my one of my best friends and if I didn’t know you well enough to know better and if I didn’t have a date tonight, I’d be so into you right now,” he said, starry eyed. _Finally_ one of his friends was speaking geek. That was way better than Lydia’s confession that he was attractive. Way, way better. Like, to the moon and back - to _Mars_ \- better.

Danny, however, wasn’t impressed and took it entirely in his stride. “We’d kill each other if we dated.” They’d had that discussion over beers one night, not long after Stiles had come out as bi. Neither of them had gone into it thinking that there was a possibility of anything between them, but they figured they should lay it on the line to make sure it didn’t get in the way of their friendship. Or, rather, Danny thought that was best. As he’d put it, ‘I’m not going to have you following me around like a lost puppy, the way you did with Lydia for years’. Stiles had assured him there was no chance of that. Danny was a good friend, but he really wasn’t Stiles’ type. Not even when he was in the depths of lonely singledom.

“That’s all it took. Years of work and that was all it took.” Lydia rolled her eyes and pushed him towards the door. “Go on. You have a date and we need to get out of the way before she gets here so it doesn’t look like you have an actual prep team.”

“And what a wonderful prep team you are,” Stiles said, still floating on the fuzzy feelings of knowing that Danny had quoted Spiderman at him. Danny who had always made it quite clear that, ‘just because I’m into computers, Stiles, doesn’t mean that I read comic books’.

Lydia shook her head and grabbed her bag. “Just make sure you put the new clothes away before you and Malia get it on in your bed,” she told him before heading for the door.

“And use protection,” Danny added, following Lydia.

Stiles flipped Danny off with a smile, but the room felt empty after they’d left. It was if they’d taken all that momentary confidence with them. Stiles slumped on the bed - their proverbial puppet, who’d had his strings cut. Taking a couple of breaths, he tried to gear himself up. He could do this. He was a strong, confident...man.


	6. Chapter 6

“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” Malia frowned as another bit of sarcasm went soaring over her head and the sheriff looked up at his son. Stiles made a point of picking at the pepperoni on his pizza and avoided eye contact as best he could. He knew that look. He’d been getting it all night and it clearly said ‘is she for real?’ In his father’s defense, it was a question he’d asked himself more than once. It was worse that his father had seemed so excited when Malia had arrived in her cute little cut off shorts and tank top, looking all the world like the best summer fling there was, but then she’d turned out to be well...herself and his father looked more than confused.

“Nothing sweetheart, don’t worry about it,” the sheriff told her and Malia gave him a calculating look then nodded. 

Stiles wondered how long this ‘date’ reasonably was expected to go on for. He had kept the conversation most of the night through sheer perseverance and a willingness to do at least ninety percent of the talking. Still, even he had his limits and he was approaching being empty of topics. His dad had tried to keep up, but Malia seemed to be on a totally different wavelength to both of them. Maybe Lydia and Danny had been right - maybe this disaster was all because he’d brought he home to meet his dad for their first date. Maybe he was just that kind of idiot. 

In another reminder of just why they were related, his father seemed to land on the same conclusion, getting up from the table and starting to gather plates and the leftover pizza boxes. “I know I’ve had a nice time, but I’m sure you two don’t want to spend all your time with me,” he said, smiling at Malia. “How about I clean up and you and Stiles can entertain yourselves?” 

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, just as his dad shot him a look and added, “Door open if you’re upstairs.”

Stiles sighed and slumped back in his chair. Firstly, his father was a real buzz kill. Secondly, it was a complete waste of time, since there really was no buzz to kill - and actually, all his dad had done was to introduce the idea that Stiles should be taking her up to his room. Which brought out all kinds of awkwardness, since he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to go there. Or, at least - he wanted to go there, because he was a teenage male and no likely to pass up a chance. Only… He wasn’t convinced that he wanted the chance to be with her.

It was just confusing and he wasn’t sure what to say. He was out and out relieved when Malia smiled tightly and announced that it was nice and all, the idea, but she should probably get home because she had to work in the morning. Stiles was so relieved that he didn’t miss a beat in offering to drive her home, practically pushing the girl out of the door and into his jeep.

Stiles let her give him initial directions, then settled in for a silent drive back to her place. He’d run out of things to talk about over dinner and there was even less when they were alone. Just when he thought they’d go the whole way in silence Malia was the one that spoke. “I’m not against it, coming up to your room and all,” she blurted seemingly out of nowhere, but Stiles guessed maybe it was on her mind.

“Um okay?”

“I’m not. I just...well I heard you shouldn’t do that sort of thing the first time you go out with someone so...”

“That’s okay,” Stiles interrupted, before she could get any further. “I get it. Bad idea. It’s all good.”

“Well not bad, just not anything I know anything about.” Malia glanced at him and Stiles almost swerved the car. 

“Oh well...you know, no pressure,” he said, fighting to keep his voice level. This wasn’t the kind of conversation he expected to have while driving. “You shouldn’t let people decide when you want to do something. Either way. There’s no preset timetable or anything and... I don’t think I’m making a whole lot of sense and where do you live anyhow?” Could he just pull over to the side of the road and brain himself to death on the steering wheel now please - put himself out of his misery?

“There’s a house next to the club house? I’m staying there.”

“You live... at the club?” 

“Not at the club. The house next to it. And I don’t live there. I live with my mom. My dad lives there and I’m staying with him.” 

Stiles opened his mouth - and promptly reworded what he had been going to say. This girl was far too literal, and far too likely to disagree with anything he said that wasn’t entirely right, it took away more than half of his conversation options. She didn’t even understand sarcasm! “Well, I’ll have you back at the _place where you’re staying_ in no time at all then.”

Malia nodded and settled more in her seat. “Good,” seemingly missing his tone, which was probably for the best. He didn’t feel like explaining himself any more than he already had. 

He didn’t try and push the conversation for the rest of the drive and Malia didn’t look too put out when he simply dropped her off outside the door of Peter Hale’s house. He waved as she did, watching her get to the door before turning around and starting back the way he’d come. It was late enough that it was already almost dark as he headed down the road between Peter’s house and the clubhouse and if he’d been going any faster he might have missed the girl. She was stumbling, just on the edge of the street and when the jeep headlights lit up her blonde hair he didn’t think much of it. When she collapsed though, legs just giving out from under her, Stiles slammed his foot on the break and barely got the jeep in park before he was hurtling out the side of it and rushing to her. 

She was already on the ground, half unconscious as Stiles rolled her toward him. He recognized her immediately: Erica. She was far past drunk. She was clearly high on something and something strong. Stiles’ first reaction was to find someone else, standing to see who was around, but there wasn’t anyone close by. He crouched next to her again, checking her pulse, which was thready at best and too slow for comfort. Just as he fished his phone out of his pocket though, she moaned and he was left reaching for her, sitting so her head was in his lap. His first call was 911, giving them his location and telling them that she was sure something was all sorts of wrong, his second was Scott, who was thankfully still at the clubhouse. 

“Bring her to Derek’s,” Scott said, without pause. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Dude - I already called 911,” Stiles told him, fingers reaching for her pulse. He was no expert, but it sounded way too fast and thready for his liking.

“Shit - she’s not going to thank you for that.” Stiles was about to ask, but Scott carried on talking. “Her insurance won’t cover it and... Seriously - just bring her to Derek’s.” Scott sighed, like he was resigned. “It won’t be the first time. Der will look after her.”

“I can’t just leave and not...yeah fine. See you in a minute.” Stiles got one arm under Erica to get her to the jeep, dialed the last number he wanted to call, but knew he didn’t have a choice otherwise. His father picked up on the second ring. 

“Stiles, everything okay?” 

“I need to you call off an ambulance being sent to the club. Turns out I don’t need it and I’m sorry.”

Stiles winced at the intake of breath and the inevitable question. “Ambulance? Are you okay, Stiles?”

“Yes, yes dad - I’m fine,” Stiles hurriedly assured him, knowing just how much his father worried about him. They were all each other had left in the world, and usually when his dad got overprotective, it just made Stiles feel warm inside, knowing he was cared for. Now, it made him feel guilty as he looked down at the girl in his arms. His dad would - _should_ \- know about this. Instead, Stiles was about to lie to him.

“Is it Lydia?”

“No - Lydia’s fine. We’re both fine. Danny too.”

“Then why the ambulance, Stiles?” the Sheriff asked him.

“Dad...” Stiles faltered, then pressed on. “I can’t say.” There was a sigh down the line. “Please, dad. It’s... You trust me, right? I called an ambulance. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. Everything’s okay - I just need you to trust me and I need not to waste the time of the emergency services.” Which was a low blow, and Stiles knew it. Still, it did the trick. The Sheriff of all people knew how stretched emergencies were, especially in a town like Beacon Hills.

“Of course I trust you son. I’ll make the call.”

Stiles let out a sigh of relief, getting Erica on her feet and the door open for her so he could get her into the jeep. It wasn’t great, but it was better than nothing. He’d put up with whatever lecture or inquisition was waiting for him at home after this. 

“Thanks dad. Seriously. I appreciate it.” 

“Stiles. If there’s trouble...” 

“I know. I’ll tell you about it. Promise.” 

...Stiles just hoped that he actually meant that.

\-----

Erica was coming round a little more when Stiles screeched to a halt outside Derek’s house, dust drifting in the night air from where he’d slammed on the breaks so suddenly. Before he could even do anything, the passenger door was open and Derek was lifting her out, Scott hovering nearby and practically wringing his hands.

Stiles pocketed the keys and fell into step beside Scott as they followed Derek into the house. “Okay - I cancelled the ambulance. Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on,” he asked - mostly speaking to Scott, but loud enough that Derek would hear. He wanted Derek to hear. He’d just lied to his father and probably made a really bad call not taking Erica to the hospital. He felt he deserved to know why at least.

“Uhh,” Scott started eloquently, his eyes cutting to Derek who carried Erica to the couch to set her down, kneeling to look at her. 

“There’s nothing going on. Thanks for your help, you can go _now_ ,” Derek answered with a growl in his voice, not looking back at Stiles. 

“Try again,” Stiles demanded, folding his arms and glaring at Scoot - who caved immediately.

“Erica’s got a drug problem.”

“Scott - you don’t tell him those things!” Derek proclaimed. “His dad’s the Sheriff - you just don’t...” Derek broke off with a huff, as Stiles got over his own shock and jumped in.

“I won’t tell him!” he blurted. “I already didn’t tell him what was going on! And I’m not going to. I’m not blind. Or insane. I knew there was something the moment I saw her. I only got the ambulance cancelled because Scott told me there was an insurance problem and...” Stiles trailed off, cluing into the way that Derek was scowling more and more at Scott, who was wincing in return.

“You called your dad,” Derek deadpanned. “Your dad already knows there’s something.”

“He trusts me,” Stiles answered, firmly. Sure, he could see it objectively. There was something wrong here, and illegal, and he was the Sheriff’s kid. He’d faced this kind of prejudice before. People who didn’t want to invite him to parties in case he shopped them for under-age drinking. People who didn’t want to talk about anything in front of him, in case he went running to ‘daddy’. He’d heard it all before. He didn’t blame Derek for that, but he wasn’t going to stand here and allow the guy to misjudge him without being corrected.

“So that means I should trust you? I should trust him? We’re fine. We have it under control and it’s time for you to leave Stiles.” Derek leveled a look at Stiles, but he wasn’t going to back down. Not until he could get them to see.

“Yeah it means you should trust me. I’m trying to help Derek. You’re lucky I found her!” 

Derek didn’t answer, just leveling Stiles with an intensely serious look. He’d never admit it to a soul, but it was damn intimidating. “Go home, Stiles,” Derek said, his tone on the edge of a threat.

Stiles swallowed. “I’m coming back in the morning. I want to make sure she’s alright.”

“Der?” Erica’s voice was barely there, wavering at best and Derek was already starting back to her side. 

“Make him leave,” he growled as Scott, pushing Scott towards Stiles. Scott, despite looking like he might be sick from nerves did was he was told, pushing Stiles towards the door, only giving Stiles a quick glimpse of Derek brushing Erica’s hair out of her eyes while holding her hand tightly. 

“Sorry man,” Scott mumbled once they were on the porch. “But you gotta go. Thanks, for getting her. He’s grateful he’s just pissed. But go. We’re fine. I’ll...text you tomorrow and let you know how she is.” 

Stiles shook his head. “I’m coming over in the morning,” he insisted.

“Derek won’t...”

“I don’t care what Derek wants - I’m coming over to check on Erica.”

Scott looked pained then bit at his lip. “If he yells, I insisted you not come at all and you should stay far away and not worry about it because Derek has it under control.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “If he yells, then he can yell at me. This isn’t on you, buddy - you told me not to come, yada yada yada. I came anyway, because Erica’s kinda like a friend - or could be, given enough time. I wanna see her. No reflection on Derek’s caring skills.” Though, from what he’d seen of the moody, glaring thing, Stiles wasn’t convinced. Maybe if Derek thought he could stubborn someone back to full health... Still, he set a mental reminder to bring coffee and donuts in the morning - nothing like caffeine and sugar when going where you weren’t really welcome. It worked a treat every time he wanted to con his way into the station.

Scott still looked worried but nodded. “Yeah okay,” he said, looking at his feet. “He does care about her you know. I mean...he got mad, but he’s worried. We thought it was better, but apparently it’s not.” 

“I get it,” Stiles reassured him. Yet, as he walked away, he wondered if he actually did. He’d seen Erica out of it before, but he’d assumed drink, not drugs. There’d never been a drug problem in Beacon Hills. Not that he knew of, and Stiles had always prided himself on knowing far more than he should ever have done about crime in his town. Now there was this.  
Maybe he didn’t understand yet, but by tomorrow he would do.

\-----

The room was uncomfortable with a hanging silence as the occupants all looked around at each other, waiting for someone else to give.

Erica sat hunched on a battered armchair, a ratty old blanket wrapped round her shoulders, and her blonde hair falling in lank strands around her face. She sipped slowly at a cup of the coffee Stiles has brought, as if it was the only thing keeping her warm.

Stiles sat on the couch next to Scott, watching as Derek paced the floor.

Stiles couldn’t stop his knee from bouncing even though Scott kept giving him sideways glances every time he accidentally banged into him. The silence was killing him and there was only so many time he could watch Derek pace before he lost it. Apparently he wasn’t the only one because just as he broke the silence, Derek did as well. 

“Look I think you should tell someone--” 

“What part of this isn’t your business--” 

Stiles frowned. “Pretty sure just being here last night made it my business.

“Tell who? Your father so he can come in here and accuse Erica of doing something wrong?” Derek asked instead of commenting on what Stiles said.

“I did do something wrong.” Erica’s words, quiet as they were, effectively silenced the brewing argument. Everyone turned to look at her, huddled in her seat, and she lifted her head , tossing her long, straggly blonde hair back over her shoulders. “You can’t deny it, Derek. Drugs aren’t exactly legal. What I’m doing isn’t legal. He would be within his rights to tell.”

Derek snorted, rolling his eyes dismissively. “Sure - takes a real saint to hide things from daddy.”

Stiles couldn’t help the wordless whine of protest that escaped his lips, even as Erica turned to stare at him, saying. “Your dad’s a cop?”

“His dad’s the _sheriff_ ,” Derek corrected.

“Jesus,” Erica breathed. “That takes things to a whole new level.”

“Which is exactly why I’ve been telling him that he can’t be here,” Derek said,gesturing in a way that clearly stated ‘nobody fucking listens to me’.

“He can help,” Scott said, stepping in, like he suddenly had all the answers. It made Stiles wonder how much time Scott spent listening and watching what was going on around him, assessing the situation and keeping to the status quo, until he’d formulated his own plan and was ready to put it into action, steamrollering over everyone else to get to his goal. “His dad’s the sheriff, sure, but that means that he knows what’s going on. He’s already shown that he’s not going to say anything and...” Scott turned to Derek as he finished, and Stiles had to wonder at the significant look they seemed to share. “He can _help_.”

Stiles wanted to shake Scott for finally getting it and saying it, but the guy had just stood up to Derek who had his moments of being severely intimidating and he was sure celebrating like a fourteen year old girl wouldn’t have the desired effect in convincing Derek they knew what they were talking about. Derek needed to be convinced. He’d leveled a serious stare at Scott, as if waiting for him to wilt, but to Scott’s credit he jutted his chin out just a little bit more and turned on the puppy dog eyes, which was both defiant and cute in way that Stiles had thought only Lydia had mastered.

“How’s he gonna help?” Derek crossed his arms over his chest and looked at both of them. 

Stiles looked at Scott then Derek. “Depends on what you want to do. If you want to take down the people that sold drugs to Erica, then I can get the cops to listen.” He didn’t miss the way that Erica winced, then set her face determinedly and he had to wonder how much of an inner battle it was for her to not fight to maintain her addiction.

“No.” Derek’s decision was pronounced in a tone that he clearly had determined was final, complete with crossed arms and bulging muscles.

“Why not, Derek - you can get him in. We all know who’s...” Scott said.

“He can’t do it.”

“If anyone can get him where he needs to be and keep him safe, you can,” Erica protested. 

“He can’t do it.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes - he’d had enough of this. Who was Derek, anyway, to tell him what he could and couldn’t do?

“I really don’t think you know me well enough to say that,” Stiles interrupted. “Also, I’m still in the room and you’re talking about me like I’m not here. It’s kind of annoying.”

Derek turned to him and Stiles met his eyes, even though there was something about the look that made Stiles feel like Derek had suddenly shut out everyone else in the room. There was a challenge and a focus to the intense gaze from those gorgeously green eyes. “You really think you can help? Even without knowing what’s going on?”

“Yes. Probably. So how about you _tell_ me what’s going on and I’ll judge for myself. Much more sensible way of dealing with things, dude, instead of being all glowering and dictatory about shit.”

There was a heavy silence between them, but Stiles forced himself not to back down, not to cower. He guessed he was being tested and as Derek continued to glare, he just held his gaze and did his best to keep his shoulders from slumping. After a moment, Derek huffed out a sigh and waved a hand at Stiles. “Fine. You tell him. We’ll see if he’s so helpful later.”


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles didn’t care how grumpy and frowny Derek Hale was going to be, the important thing was that the guy had sat in a glowering silence as Scott had filled him in on what they knew and Stiles had risen to the occasion.

Well, he had risen as far as he’d been able. He could tell that there was still a whole lot that he wasn’t being told. For a guy that hadn’t said two whole words together for the rest of the night, Derek had done an impressive job of communicating when Scott needed to shut up and take another tack on things. It was like Derek was bilingual in English and Eyebrow.

Now, though, Stiles sat alone in his room, the morning sun shining in through his window and the sounds of his neighbor’s kids playing in the yard next door, shrieking and hollering to each other, while Stiles stared at his handiwork. He’d taken down all of his posters and, with the help of a few colored pens, some note paper and some balls of yarn, he had made a pretty good start on tracking exactly what was going on in town.

His father would have a fit if he knew - which was why Stiles had waited until he was alone in the house.

He took a step back, surveying his handiwork as he chewed on the end of a pen. Scott had told him last night that Erica had begun using drugs some years ago. She had managed to get clean and with Derek’s help she had managed to turn her life around. She had a good job at the club, she rented a room off Derek, she’d been clean and sober for a couple of years now. She and her boyfriend, Boyd, had been talking about marriage and the possibility of a couple of kids.

Then abruptly she’d fallen off the wagon. Nobody could understand it at first. Erica had cut all ties with people from her previous life. She didn’t go anywhere, or do anything that would expose her to drugs - she’d always wanted it that way. When she was getting clean, Erica had set her own rules. She’d acknowledged that she wasn’t a strong person. She could do it, but she needed to be far away from temptation. That was one of the reasons she moved in with Derek. Derek was very anti-drugs, more so than anyone Stiles had ever met - and his father was the County Sheriff. Derek was her rock, the person she turned to when things got difficult. The one that could keep her in control, tell her ‘no’ and make her listen when that was what she needed. 

Stiles had gotten hung up on that part briefly, understanding that Derek seemed like the kind of guy who was good at telling people what to do with ten pounds of judgement to go with it, but him being someone's rock and guiding point had been a little difficult to grasp when he was glaring at Stiles. Of course, at the same time, his imagination could run with that, thinking of him as a perfect boyfriend type, which meant Scott had to repeat himself twice after that thought came up and even now Stiles was getting distracted from his strings connecting things while he thought about having a person like that in his life that wasn't his dad. 

In the end, he’d grabbed a clean sheet of paper and a sharpie and written the angular words that were now tacked up on the wall, front and center, just to remind himself.

_DEREK IS NOT THE POINT_

The point was that the Beacon Hills Country Club, in all of its monied and snobbish glory was being used as a front for a drug ring and if something wasn’t done about it, then things were going to get bad, and quickly.

Unfortunately, there were conditions on Stiles’ involvement. Namely - he couldn’t just go tell his dad. At least, he had been asked by Scott - and told unconditionally by Derek’s eyebrows - not to do that on the basis that if the police came charging in then the club would be closed down. Stiles couldn’t quite get a handle on why exactly that was a bad thing under the circumstances, but seemingly it was. They needed evidence and they needed to know exactly who was behind it all. According to Scott, they had some pretty good ideas, but rumor and supposition wasn’t enough. They needed more.

Scott believed that Stiles was the one to get that for them and Stiles wasn’t going to back down. Not when not only was he damn sure that he could do it, but also when Derek was looking at him like he was convinced there was no way in hell he could. Stiles was not going to back down from a challenge like that.

“What is Derek not the point of?” 

Stiles jumped out of his skin at the voice behind him, turning too fast and almost falling over at the sight of Lydia. “What are you doing here? How did you get in!?”

“I have a key.” 

“Why!?” 

“Your dad gave me permission to force you out of the house if necessary,” she explained like it wasn’t a big deal. “Also I’m apparently in charge of getting mail in case you two ever go out of town.” She looked back at the wall behind him. “What’s Derek not the point of? And who is Derek?” She asked as she headed towards Stiles’ bed, sitting on it and looking up at the wall. “What is all of this?” 

Stiles flailed for a moment, then settled on, “I suppose it’s too late to convince you that you didn’t see anything and you’re hallucinating this whole thing?” he tried, already knowing the answer, even before Lydia gave him a long, unimpressed look, her pink coated lips pursed. “Right, of course. Wouldn’t even try that one. Okay… So! Derek! Is the cute lifeguard at the club,” Stiles said, bouncing down on the bed and hoping the word ‘cute’ attached to a person and forming an opinion that Stiles had about someone else would be enough to distract Lydia from the clear ‘what the hell’ pinned all over his wall. 

“Right. What does he not have to do with what's tacked on your wall?” Lydia asked, not at all swayed by Stiles' diversion tactics. 

He needed to start locking his bedroom door. He was about ninety percent sure Lydia didn’t have a key to his room. Maybe seventy percent sure.

At least forty percent sure.

“Nothing!” Stiles proclaimed. “Nothing at all - and that’s the point! But he is cute. I mean, really cute - isn’t he? Even Danny thinks he’s cute and…”

“Stiles.” Lydia’s tone cut straight through his rambling, as she pointedly looked between him and the wall. 

“I… can’t tell,” he told her, sheepishly and looking at her with what he hoped was a pathetic, puppydog expression. She sighed and shook her head.

“Drugs, Stiles? Seriously?” she asked. “I thought that your dad told you to stay out of his cases for the summer.”

“He did, this is…” Stiles’ brain abruptly caught up with his mouth and he all but slammed a palm across his face to actually shut himself up. He saved it at the last minute, but ended up rubbing the back of his neck and trying to look like he actually had some kind of control over his own limbs. “That is...exactly what this is,” he said, slowly, then gaining speed. “You caught me. Totally. This is one of dad’s cases and what can I say? I just can’t resist that call of a mystery. You know me, Lydia. There’s just no telling me, so if this could just be…our little secret? No need for dad to know and I promise that I’m still going to come to the club and do all the proper summer things and all of that so you don’t need to worry about any of this. Just… think of it as my little hobby. One of dad’s cases. Sure. That he won’t even give me any information on. So it’s not like I can even get that far with it. See? All good.”

Lydia stared at Stiles for a long moment. “You know, I don’t believe a word you’re saying.” Stiles did - he knew that. It had been too much to hope for. Lydia was far smarter and more observant than she ever let on. “But, because I knew I wasn’t going to get a whole summer of you not being _you_. Fine. I won’t tell. Unless this is some elaborate plan to date the lifeguard, because if it is it’s not going to work and you should scrap it now.” 

Stiles blinked, relieved that she was keeping the secret. “It’s not,” he said, hurriedly. He didn’t think he had a chance in hell with someone like Derek, elaborate plans or not.

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, Lydia turned and looked at the wall, settling in a little. “Alright. Tell me what you have so far, Sherlock.” 

“I’m not going to tell you about it.”

“Sure you are. Every Sherlock needs a Dr. Watson, so start talking. What’s going on?”

Stiles stepped between her and the wall. “I’m not going to tell you about it, Lydia,” he said, firmly, setting his hands on her shoulders and looking down at her. Even with the scarily high heels she tended to wear, she was shorter than he was. Puberty was finally being kind to him. “I made a promise. Anyway, it’s all rumor and supposition right now.”

Lydia glared up at him, but didn’t question it, nodding finally. “Well hurry up and cover it up and let’s go. You said it wouldn’t interfere with normal summer stuff and we’re supposed to be at the club.” 

Stiles grinned, knowing with that he had Lydia on board. “Sure,” he told her, willing to give her what she wanted in return. “Let’s go.”

Lydia nodded, then looked at the wall again before looking at Stiles. “I need you to promise me something Stiles.”

Her tone was different, enough to wipe the smile from his face and he paused, looking at her. “Okay...”

She met his eyes, staring into them in the way that kept people from lying to her. “The moment this goes past the wall, the moment it gets dangerous, you tell your dad. I don’t care how hot Derek the lifeguard is.” 

Stiles gestured to the wall. “Like it says, Lydia. This has nothing to do with Derek.”

Lydia rolled her eyes at Stiles before pulling on his shirt to lead him out of his room. “I know you too well Stiles. If it’s written there like that it has _everything_ to do with him.”

Locking the door behind them, Stiles pocketed his keys, saying, “Are you not even going to ask me how my date went last night?”

“Oh my god, Stiles - no,” Lydia proclaimed. “Not when today’s being all about Hot Lifeguard Derek. Which means that you’re either actually a complete tool - which I know you’re not, because _I know you_ \- or the date was a one time only thing.” She stopped and turned to him, looking him up and down in that assessing way that may Stiles feel like she could actually read his mind. “I don’t think it was a disaster. I’d know about it if it was a disaster - you’d have called. Which means… it was okay. Possibly slightly awkward. But no fireworks or orchestral accompaniments. Nothing to satisfy that romantic streak that you like to pretend you don’t have. You’ll see her again if its pushed, because it’s easy, but you could let her go just as easily and never look back.”

Stiles opened his mouth to counter what she said, but dammit she was right. “I should have never made you my best friend.” He should have just let her go when she wasn’t interested in him. He was suffering the consequences of having someone who knew exactly what he was thinking when he didn’t want her to. “It’s not that it wasn’t bad. Or great. I don’t know.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “I want to like her.” 

“Why?” Lydia asked, in that tone she used when she already knew the answer, but she was giving him an opportunity to say what he was really thinking out loud. It wasn’t like Stiles ever really needed an excuse to speak, yet, somehow, when she did that, it did make things better. It gave him a framework to work through that arranged his usually scattered thoughts more firmly.

“Because it’s easier. Because there’s more reasons to like her than there are to not and for some reason I just can’t. She’s pretty, she’s interesting, she likes me, which we both know never happens. And yet…” Stiles held his hands out in front of him, as if the nothing was something tangible that he could show with a hand gesture. 

Lydia pursed her lips, looking him up and down in an all too familiar way. Stiles waited, knowing she was weighing whether to say what was on her mind or not. Eventually, as they reached the jeep, she decided to tell him. “You’re a nice guy, Stiles. You’re interesting, not a complete moron, charming in your own particular way, and when you make an effort, not totally unfortunate looking.” She rolled her eyes up and corrected herself, immediately. “You’re a good looking guy - far more so than you seem to think. When we first became friends, I knew you had a crush on me and I knew that it would have been easy for me to get you to ask me out. You were on the up, popularity-wise, and if you’d have been my boyfriend, then you would have been at the top of the social scale within weeks. I thought that you would have filled the role admirably well, treated me in the right way and, well - at the end of the day, there’s a reason we’re friends. I thought about it and when I did that, I realized that I just don’t feel that way about you. Just because someone ticks all the right social boxes, doesn’t mean that they’re the right one for you.”

Stiles slumped in the driver’s seat trying not to think about the fact that Lydia had managed to all but dump him without ever being with him, but at least she’d done it nicely. At the same time, he got it. He knew why it didn’t work between them because as they’d gotten to know each other they’d realized it wasn’t going to work. “Because it’s just not _there_. I wanted it to be. I really did.” 

Lydia patted his arm. “Because that’s who you are.” 

“So - how are things going with Jackson?” Stiles asked her, though with a certain lack of enthusiasm, born from the fact that he still was having a hard time believing that she would give that guy the time of day. He hoped that he would hear that she’d kicked him to the curb - especially in light of her little speech about being with people for the right reasons and not because they were a socially acceptable choice.

He was wrong. Her face lit up at the question and she launched into a description of their date the night before and Stiles had to force himself to pay attention in case he needed to know for later. He really hoped he didn’t need to know just what kind of shirt he was wearing, but just in case he’d file that away for later. Because that was what friends did, and even though Stiles didn’t like the guy, he liked Lydia and he was damn lucky to have her. 

\-----

Lydia had run off with Jackson the moment they got to the club and Danny was mid-tennis match, which Stiles had watched for all of two minutes before he decided he needed to get to work on his ‘research’ and start looking into where the drugs were coming from. Scott and Derek had been sure it was somewhere at the club, which had Stiles wandering around, studying the people and trying to figure out who would be pushing drugs through it. 

Unfortunately, Stiles realised quickly that he didn’t know what he was looking for. It wasn’t as if there was going to be anyone just hanging around with a big sign saying ‘drugs for sale’. Erica had given him all the information she had on her supplier, but that wasn’t what they were after. He was smallfry, a nobody. They needed information on who was bringing the drugs in and who was organizing the whole thing. They needed to get higher up. Still, Stiles had never let a little thing like not having any real leads stop him before and he was taking the opportunity of trying all the locker doors in the currently empty men’s locker room when he was suddenly grabbed from behind and thrust up against a locker door.

He let out a noise he was less than proud of, but the idea of being attacked by some stranger, some large stranger, was enough to leave him panicked. At least until he realized who had him. “Derek what the hell?” he hissed, pushing at Derek and definitely not thinking about that broad expanse of chest that was pressed a little too close to his. 

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, his fist bunched up in Stiles’ shirt as he held him against the locker.

“And I say again - what. the. hell,” Stiles repeated, more forcefully, his heart still racing as he reached up and pried Derek’s fingers from his clothes, one by one. “Seriously, dude - what exactly did I do to warrant the bodily harm?” he asked, though he remained splayed against the door.

“I didn’t hurt you. Not yet at least.” Derek had given up his hold on Stiles’ shirt, but stayed close enough to keep Stiles from moving anywhere. “You’re skulking around like you’re looking for trouble. Is this how you plan on helping?” 

“I’m _looking_ ,” Stiles protested.

“You’re acting shady as hell - I’ve been watching you.” From this proximity, Stiles had a very intimate view of the way that the muscles in Derek’s jaw flexed in frustration. “I’m surprised you didn’t come here in a fedora and shades this morning. Stop being so damn obvious.”

“Do you think I could pull off a fedora? I just got one and Danny was on board, but Lydia insists no way, still, I like to hope,” Stiles babbled which just made Derek growl. That really shouldn’t have been hot, but it sent shivers down Stiles’ spine. 

“If you don’t stop acting like a damn private eye I’m going to pull the plug on this.” 

“I’ll have you know, you brought me in as a private dick and you can’t be pissed if I’m doing what I have to!” 

“This isn’t going to work if ‘what you have to do’ is wandering around looking shady while _clearly_ not having the first clue where to start looking!”

“Then, since you know so much about this, why don’t you tell me!” Stiles proclaimed, as exasperated as Derek was. He pushed at the wall of muscle and was actually surprised when Derek gave way, taking a step backward and releasing him.

“Fine,” Derek told him. “Tell me you at least know the layout of this place.”

Stiles gave him a long look that he hoped was suitably withering. “I’ve been a member here for a few days. Malia gave me the tour, but, mostly I know the public areas and that’s about it.”

“Right - then that’s where we start,” Derek told him. Stiles yelped in protest as the other man grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him off, out of the locker room and down the corridor. 

“Where are we going?” Stiles asked, struggling to keep up since Derek was holding him at a weird angle and walking quickly. Seriously - they were of a height and if Derek wasn’t such a weirdly aggressive ass, then they could just walk side by side. But, no - Derek’s need to show his dominance completely pointlessly meant that Stiles was doing his best Hunchback of Notre Dame impression.

“We’re going to the offices,” Derek said, speaking through gritted teeth. “Where I’m going to take you through the full layouts and give you the staff codes to get you in everywhere.”

Stiles stumbled over his own feet, eyes going wide at that. “Seriously? Can you do that?” 

“Nothing stopping me,” Derek said.

“But it’s not allowed right?” 

“Isn’t that the point?” 

Stiles had to consider that then nodded. “Absolutely.” 

“You aren’t afraid of breaking the rules are you?” Derek glared over his shoulder at him and Stiles shook his head. 

“No, definitely not. I’m not a goody two shoes, no matter how much you think I am.” 

“Pretty sure you still are.” Derek stopped in front of the door to the staff offices. “But lucky for us you wish you were a badass.”

“Damn straight,” Stiles agreed, then his jaw dropped and he hit Derek on the shoulder with the back of his hand as he realized what the other guy had actually said. “Hey! I _am_ a badass,” he insisted, scowling when Derek just snorted and entered in the keycode.

Stiles was pretty sure the guy was still making fun of him, but he didn’t have the heart to completely complain. It was nice to have the attention from Derek. It was exactly the opposite of what he’d felt around Malia. Just the attention, even if it wasn’t the best, was enough. “I am,” he repeated as Derek opened the door, peeking in then waving for Stiles to follow him. 

The office they were in looked out over the tennis courts and Stiles paused for a moment to watch Danny leaping round the court, looking graceful and powerful. The guy had a seemingly magical ability to make everything look so easy that Stiles had always been envious of.

“A friend of yours?” Derek asked, his voice gruff and coming from just behind Stiles’ left shoulder, near enough that Stiles felt that if he just leaned back a little, he would be resting against that chest. “I saw you at the pool together a few days ago.”

That piece of information surprised Stiles, because Derek could only be describing the first day at the club, when Danny had initially pointed Derek out. Stiles hadn’t thought that Derek had even noticed him, and he cringed at the thought of the truly awful board shorts he’d been forced to wear that day.

“Yeah - friend from school,” Stiles said, not daring to look behind him. “Just friends,” he added, quickly, though he doubted Derek gave a damn.

Derek just hummed as if it didn’t matter or he didn’t believe Stiles and Stiles honestly couldn’t tell which it was. “Maps to the grounds are over here,” Derek said, before walking towards where the maps were hung up on the walls. “There’s copies we give new employees too.” He opened a drawer, shifting through the files there before handing Stiles a packet. Stiles had to wonder how it was Derek, whose job seemed to have nothing to do with the offices they were in, knew where everything was. 

“Why don’t you just give me a uniform and have done with it? I could just blend in,” Stiles suggested, offended when Derek just snorted like Stiles was some kind of idiot. “What?”

“Because you’re Stiles Stilinski and whilst maybe not everyone knows who you are, Peter does. I mean, you’re dating his daughter.”

“I’m not…” Stiles broke off with a sigh, knowing that, regardless of his actual relationship or lack there of with Malia - once he made a decision one way or another with that - Derek actually had a point. Peter Hale had singled him out the moment that he had set foot in the place, he couldn’t walk around pretending to be staff. He’d be caught for sure. Better that, if he was caught where he wasn’t supposed to be, he pretend to be lost, or looking for Malia. “How’d you know about that anyway?” 

Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles then shook his head. “Scott told me.” He nodded towards the map on the wall. “These are the employee only areas. That’s probably where you’ll find out the most information.” 

Stiles looked at the spots that Derek pointed out then nodded. “Any hints?” he asked. “I know you know more and you’re not telling me everything.” 

“Don't discount anyone,” Derek told him, after a moment's hesitation. 

Stiles’ mouth fell open a little and held his hands up in surrender. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked. 

“Exactly what I said. Don’t discount anyone.” 

“What trust no one? What’s wrong with you? That’s no help whatsoever. I wasn’t going to trust anyone anyway.” 

“Those aren’t the same thing,” Derek gruffed. 

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek. “You know who’s doing this, don’t you? Why don’t you just tell me, then I can target them, find the evidence and get you what you want?”

“Because it can’t work like that, Stiles. I - I can’t be involved with this. The proof needs to be accessible by someone independent and I - my name needs to be entirely kept out of the investigation. Trust me on this.”

“I told you I’m not trusting anyone,” Stiles shot back, though he knew that he didn’t mean that. He trusted Scott and he wanted to trust Derek.

Derek growled in frustration and pushed Stiles towards the door. “It has to be done this way. It’s the only way it will work. If it took just storming the gates with accusations I would have called the police already and let your dad tromp all over everything. I gave you what you need and it’s all in there.” He patted the packet again then grabbed another sheet that was in a tray by the door. “These are the codes. Stop being so damn obvious and prove something.” 

Derek thrust the paper at Stiles, just as there were voices from further down the corridor. Stiles paled, and Derek cursed under his breath. “Hide!” the older man insisted, pushing Stiles toward the desk. Stiles gaped for a moment, before catching on and crawling under the desk, folding himself up into the footwell. He hardly dared breathe as the door opened and he heard the sound of footsteps.

“Derek.” The amused voice was familiar. Peter Hale. Shit. “What brings you to my office?”

Stiles had no idea what Derek was going to say. He hadn’t even realized that this was Peter Hale’s office - what the hell had Derek been thinking, bringing him here?

“We need to talk Pe… Mr. Hale.” Stiles noted the change of wording there, and the weird alternation in Derek’s tone. Almost as if Peter had given him some kind of admonishing look for going with his first name. Stiles wouldn’t be surprised - he hadn’t heard anyone else on the staff call the man ‘Peter’. Well, aside from Malia, but things were different there. They were family.

“We have nothing to talk about,” Peter said, all amusement gone from his tone.

“We always have something to talk about,” Derek snapped back and Stiles gaped at the front panel of the desk. It was like Derek had some kind of death wish - he was going to get himself fired, talking back to the boss like that. 

The strangest thing was, though, the way that Peter reacted. There was a long pause, silence stretching enough that Stiles could hear the way that Peter eased his body weight onto his back foot, as though moving away from Derek. “We don’t have anything to talk about _here_ ,” Peter corrected, his voice tight and almost uneasy.

“Then, let’s go for a walk,” Derek told him. Peter must have agreed, because there was the sound of more footsteps, of the door opening and closing, and then nothing else. Stiles was alone.


	8. Chapter 8

Rooting through Peter’s office while Derek kept the man busy had been a tempting proposition, but one near miss a day was enough for Stiles and, anyhow, he wanted to learn more about the layout and codes for the club before he went any further. Knowing where to run to and how not to get cornered was always a reasonable plan, after all.

Stiles didn’t feel guilty at all for ditching Lydia and Danny at the club, given they’d pretty much already done that to him earlier on in day. He’d turn back up at the club again later to give them a ride home and he doubted that they’d even miss him.

All throughout the ride home, he’d had one thing playing on his mind, a question that he couldn’t answer and couldn’t let go. What was there between Derek and Peter? Derek didn’t talk to the club owner like an employee talked to an employer - and Peter didn’t react in the way that an employer would react to being talked to in such a rude way. There was something going on there. Enough that the first thing Stiles did when he got back to his room was to take down the sheet of paper that said that Derek wasn’t the point of this whole thing and replace it with two more - one for Derek and one for Peter. He connected them by a red string, signifying that he didn’t know what the connection was.

There was only so long he could stand there staring at the two names before he was wasting valuable time. Stiles turned back to the new hire packet, which Derek had insisted had the information that Stiles needed. Picking the pack up, he sat on the bed and flipped through it. There was general information about the club, hours of operations, uniform expectations, maps of the grounds. Stiles pulled out the maps, tacking those up on the walls as well. That was helpful at least and he made a note on the map where he’d found Erica.

He backed up again, wrapping his arms around himself fingers tapping at his lip then he went back to the packet. He flipped through a few more pages, knowing there had to be more than the maps that was important. He might not fully trust him, but Derek wouldn’t have said it if he hadn’t meant it.

“Woah, damn they give their employees a load of useless shit,” Stiles muttered to himself as he flipped through page after page of useless information about the club. How it had been founded by the Hale family just over a century ago and was one of the most well respected institutions of its type on the West coast. “Yeah, yeah, I get it - very exclusive and self-important, tell me something I...wait a minute. Now that’s more like it,” Stiles said, breaking off his own ramble to tear one of the pages out of the booklet. He tacked it up on the wall next to the map and circled a paragraph.

Someone, it seemed, hadn’t updated their literature properly, because the CEO of Hale Inc - the company that officially ran the club - was listed as being one Talia Hale.

“So, where are you, Talia?” Stiles asked himself as he tapped the name into Google. The answer was top of the list - and not what Stiles had been expecting.

The obituary was short and to the point. Tallia Hale, beloved wife, mother and sister, had died six years earlier, along with her husband, in a house fire. She had left children behind - not named in the article as they were underage - and her brother Peter had taken over the running of the family business.

Stiles leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head as he spun in slow circles glancing at the wall then back at the computer. So Peter wasn’t always in charge, not until a few years before and only because his sister had died and there was no one else to take over. It would seem though that the underaged family, especially if they were her kids, would be around at this point. Even if they’d been little, they would have been older now, old enough to at least help out in some capacity. He considered Malia, but she was Peter’s child, not Talia’s. He hit print on the obituary, then got up and pinned the sheet about Talia up as well. He connected it to Peter with more red yarn.

This was a new problem, it had to be. Stiles kept his ear to the ground about what the problems were in Beacon Hills. Drugs had never really been one of them, but now his even dad was worried.

Maybe one of Talia’s children was to blame? Maybe they were around now, having lost their parents when they were growing up. Stiles knew very well how much losing a parent could screw with your head. He couldn’t imagine losing both at the same time. Let alone so tragically.

Maybe one of them was back and that was why Derek didn’t want to say. How could he point the finger at the boss’ family? Even if he and the boss didn’t seem to like each other. There was also the insistence that the club couldn’t be shut down to sort out the problem. If Derek was just looking to screw over the guys who had put Erica in a shitty situation it shouldn’t matter if the club was shut down. Sure they’d lose their jobs, but shouldn’t they be able to find work elsewhere? Derek seemed to be a jack of all trades anyway.

Stiles was going in circles with the club’s origins and owners, and forced himself back on the real topic, the drugs. The big question was where they were coming from and who was distributing. He tapped his fingers on his desk before getting up to look at the wall more. “So where does a guy score in Beacon Hills?”

Stiles chuckled and picked up his phone. “Hey, Danny - not that I’m looking, but you’re the guy who knows everything round here. So, theoretically, if I was looking to buy drugs...Where would I turn?”

The line was silent for a moment and Stiles checked to be sure that Danny hadn’t hung up on him. “What makes you think I know?” Danny didn’t sound amused.

“Because you know everything,” Stiles said, again. “I’m not looking to get any, but you know if I was…”

“If you were why? What for? Whatever Derek is into is not a reason for you to start doing drugs.”

“How do you know about Derek?”

“Lydia.”

Damnit Lydia. At least she hadn’t told him about the case or the wall or he might not be asking so many questions about drugs. “Just help a guy out here Danny.”

“I might know a guy who knows a guy,” Danny said, with a sigh. “But I can’t give you his name, Stiles. Not with your dad....”

“Danny, you know me better than that,” Stiles said, though he felt the gnawing pinch of guilt deep in the pit of his stomach.

“I know you better than to think you’d ever touch drugs in the first place, Stiles, so that means you want this information for some other reason. If it’s for you, if you’re looking for something new - I’m not going to help you down that path. If it’s not…”

“I swear it’s not like that Danny. I’m just wondering.” Stiles wasn’t sure how to explain it without telling Danny everything, but telling Danny everything was going to be breaking the promise he made to Derek. “Just trust me okay?”

“I’m sorry, Stiles,” Danny said. “I can’t. But… Talk to Ethan. He doesn’t know who you are. He plays tennis at the club and he’s always looking out for a new partner. Tell him - tell him I said you were game. He’ll talk to you. Ask the right questions and you’ll find out what you need to know.”

\-----

Danny always made everything sound so damn easy. ‘Talk to Ethan’ he’d said. ‘Play tennis’ he’d said.

Which was fine, when you looked like an Abercrombie model and played like a pro. Stiles was neither. He’d tried to be and he’d crashed and burned so quickly it was just humiliating. Now he was leaning against the bar, head resting against the cool, polished mahogany and bemoaning his utter lack of game.

“Shut up.” Somehow, he knew the words were meant to be comforting, even if they were expressed in a dour tone. Maybe it was the way that Derek pressed a complimentary diet coke into his hand at the same time. Or maybe, Stiles thought as he raised his head and looked at Derek, it was the fact that for once the man wasn’t glowering at him.

“You’re scaring away customers,” Derek added, eying Stiles more as he sat up and took a tentative sip of the drink he’d been offered.

“What customers?” Stiles looked around them just to make sure, but like he’d thought they were alone.

“You scared them all off.” Derek nudged the glass closer so Stiles.

“Isn’t this the part where you ask me what happened and give the bar a wipe down with a rag?”

“My bar is already perfectly clean,” Derek pointed out - though Stiles noted that he did polish a spot on the bar with a cloth he’d had slung over his shoulder. The same spot that Stiles’ head had just been laying on. 

“So, what are you - lifeguard by day, barman by night?”

“I do what needs to be done around here.”

“Is that meant to sound vague?” Stiles asked, taking another sip of his coke. The man behind the bar was a mystery he desperately wanted to solve.

Derek shrugged a touch then rested his hands on the bar. “What happened?” He seemed a little like he didn’t want to ask, but at the same time like he needed to ask.

Stiles propped himself up on an elbow and stirred the coke with the straw Derek had given him, spinning ice cubes round and round. “I got a name of someone to talk to. Ethan. Who can apparently give me someone else. Only Ethan doesn’t want to even know me. Apparently I’m not cool enough for his attention. Or pretty enough. I’ve seen the way he looks at Danny. Danny’s plenty pretty enough.”

“Is pretty really a thing you want to be?” Derek asked. “Doesn’t seem to fit you very well.”

“Great. Thanks for the confirmation of my complete lack of physical attractiveness.”

Derek shook his head. “Never said anything about you being physically attractive or not. Said something about being pretty. Pretty isn’t what everyone wants.” Which was true, Stiles knew, but he wasn’t going to get into a conversation about beauty terms and what they really meant to with Derek of all people. Especially not when he was trying very hard not to blush. “What’d you say, exactly, for him to write you off that way?” Derek asked.

“I...Danny suggested I asked him to play tennis. Which I did. Only I bring a whole new level of ‘you suck’ to the game.”

He leaned on the bar more arms crossed, watching Stiles closely. “So what if you can’t play tennis? That really shouldn’t matter.”

“You’ve never seen me play tennis,” Stiles said, rubbing self-consciously at the back of his neck. “You don’t get a guy to trust and like you when you nearly break his nose with a randomly flying ball.”

“You’re the guy that gave him the bloody nose?” Derek asked with an amused tone in his voice. “I should have guessed that, but at the same time...” He half laughed to himself and then nodded. “Alright. So sports are off the list. What other way do you have to get to him? What do you need from him?”

Stiles twitched smile and allowed himself a rush of triumph at being able to melt the usually stoic Derek, even for a moment. “I need him because apparently he’s a guy who knows a guy - if you know what I mean,” he said, significantly as he leaned forward and gave a stage wink. He dropped the act pretty quickly though. They may be alone, but this was still a public place and Stiles wasn’t going to be one to risk being overheard. “But my source wouldn’t give me any more information, and Ethan has no idea who I am, so... I figure I can either play the long game and spend days - maybe weeks - getting him to trust me enough to slip me the name of his guy. Or, I get him interested in me. And, from what I’ve been told, I’ve got the right equipment, it’s just... not necessarily in the right shape to get his attention.”

“Your shape is fine,” Derek said with a half a wave of his hand. “And we don’t have time for a long game. Why don’t I try? If that’s all it takes to get a name from a guy who knows a guy.”

Stiles opened his mouth, about to question why Mr. Scowly himself thought that he stood a chance. Then reality kicked in and Stiles felt like hitting himself round the back of the head, because, seriously, the world had eyes. “...Sure,” he stuttered. “That’d... probably work. Yup. Sure. Though I hate to point this out but I’m fairly sure that you already know the name. I mean, that’s what this is all about, right? Me getting information that you already have? So that I can legitimately go to my dad and keep you and this place out of it?”

“Which is why you’re going to be well in earshot when I do this,” Derek deadpanned, like Stiles was some kind of idiot. Which - offensive much? Stiles had the second highest GPA in his graduating class and coming second to Lydia Martin was nothing to be sniffed at. 

“So what are you going to do exactly? Like, you can’t just look good and growl at him to get him to give you an answer. So you know, what’s your plan?”

“You’ll just have to watch,” Derek said, leaving Stiles hanging.

\-----

Stiles was having a hard time stopping his jaw from hitting the floor.

It was several hours since he and Derek had come up with their loose plan, and the bar was filling up enough for them to be able to put it into action. From the moment that Ethan had arrived with his twin brother and from the moment he stepped up to the bar, Stiles was convinced that Derek had been replaced by a pod person.

Rather, from the moment that Derek relaxed his stance and _smiled_.

And damn, what a smile. Stiles was glad he wasn’t looking at it head on because odds were he might have turned into a puddle on the floor because it like radiated light and Ethan, who had fought Stiles tooth and nail the entire way just sort of half swooned and grinned right back at Derek. When Derek leaned in slightly, not that menacing leaning over the bar he’d done before, but more of a casual resting against it to invade Ethan’s personal space, Stiles angrily stabbed at the ice cubes in his glass. It should not be that easy. 

Stiles almost missed his name, lost as he was in a silence mental rage, but Derek’s surprising soft tone forming those familiar syllables cut through it all and Stiles lifted his head. They were talking about him. Derek had seemingly casually brought Stiles up in his conversation with Ethan and Stiles could only watch, stunned into unusual silence as Derek deftly drew him into the conversation, as though he was just meant to be there. The bastard even managed to bring up the fact that Ethan’s swollen nose in a way that they all ended up laughing about it.

“Yeah, I... should never be allowed near a tennis court,” Stiles stuttered out, still wondering where the hell Derek’s damn magical powers of awesome had come from and whether they were going to hang around or not.

“I’ll fully support that. Though you’ve got an arm on you.” Ethan said, touching the edges of the bruise around his nose.

“Not surprised at all,” Derek said, turning his smile on Stiles for a moment and Stiles felt the air rush out of his lungs. Not surprised why? Because Stiles looked weaker than he was? Was that a compliment?

Ethan chuckled and looked over at Stiles. “So tell me then, why were you so desperate to play tennis with me if you know you’re awful at it?”

Stiles gaped, his jaw moving, but no sound coming out for a moment, until his words suddenly caught up to him and he blurted, “For you!”

Behind Ethan’s shoulder, Stiles caught the way that Derek rolled him eyes and threw up his hands. Clearly that wasn’t the right answer - or, at least, not a good enough answer, even though Ethan smiled at it. “Yeah - this guy hasn’t shut up about you all afternoon,” Derek added, shooting Stiles a look that made it very clear that Derek felt he was saving Stiles’ ass here. Which he wasn’t, at least not if anyone asked Stiles. He was mostly fine on his own and there was no need to give Derek credit for the way Ethan glanced at Derek then back at Stiles.

“Well, if that was all it was, there’s easier ways to get my attention than failing at tennis,” Ethan said with a smirk, fingers reaching out to graze against Stiles’ wrist.

Stiles drug his eyes back to Ethan, determinedly ignoring Derek - who seemed to abruptly turn away anyhow - and he twisted his hand so that his fingers were trailing along Ethan’s arm in return. Danny had made an offhand comment, once, after a few beers about how Stiles’ fingers were apparently ‘positively sinful’. He’d never been willing to be drawn on why, but Stiles was willing to chase after every advantage he possibly had.

Whatever it was Danny saw in his hands seemed to work because Ethan’s eyes were glued to them before looking up at Stiles with a darker edge to his smile and look. “What do you say we figure out just what it is you want,” he suggested and Stiles had to bite back a grin and force himself to just nod to keep from saying the wrong thing. Whatever Derek had done worked because now he had an in and it was working.

Two glasses slid between them. A couple of beers that Stiles knew full well that neither of them were old enough for. “On the house,” Derek said, with a glance to Stiles that said he knew it too.

“And people complain about the help here,” Ethan said, reaching for his glass. Stiles had to bite back a comment but went for his as well, watching the blonde took a sip of his beer.

Stiles bided his time until the drinks were nearly done and the conversation flowing between him and Ethan easily. It had been a little awkward at first, but he felt like he had finally found his groove. “There was something else...” he said, once he felt he could just slip that into conversation. Derek, who previously had been hovering at the edge of the conversation, turned away, and Stiles loved that they seemed to be so in tune.

Ethan raised a curious eyebrow and smiled more, giving Stiles his full attention. “What else?”

Stiles ran his tongue over his lower lip and leaned in more. “Let’s say I’m looking to have a good time...”

Ethan chuckled. “What kind of a good time?” he asked flirtatiously, as he toyed with the rim of his glass, running his finger around it.

Apparently not what Ethan was thinking because that tone was not at all one Stiles was used to. “Um...A good time with you maybe?” Stiles caught the ‘are you a fucking moron’ look Derek was giving him over Ethan’s shoulder, but resolutely ignored it as Ethan’s smile widened.

“Well, I’m free tomorrow night, if you are. Say - seven PM?” Ethan suggested.

That was a date wasn’t it? Stiles pondered that for half a moment and realized he’d never actually been asked on a date before. Someone should give him credit for accomplishing at least one thing this summer. “Yeah sounds great,” Stiles said with a smile - the best one he could muster. He just barely caught the way Derek’s scowl deepened, but kept his eyes on Ethan.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow at seven,” Ethan said with a bright smile of even, white teeth before he slid off his stool and walked away.

Stiles had barely caught his breath, not believing that a guy had actually just asked him out, when Derek caught him by the back of the collar and hauled him round. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Derek demanded, through gritted teeth.

Stiles half shook his head and shrugged. “Uh...Going on a date?”

“When you’re _meant_ to be finding out who’s bringing drugs into this place to sell to all your friends,” Derek stressed. “I didn’t set you up with all of this so you could...” He bit off the end of the sentence in a way that had Stiles biting back his own comment. “I thought you were seeing the boss’ daughter,” Derek said, his tone tightly wound enough that Stiles wondered who’d stuck something up that perfectly formed ass.

“I went out with her once,” Stiles said. “People date more than one person all the time when it’s not serious. And I’m going to find out the name while I’m there. I can do two things at once can’t I?”

Stiles didn’t get the way that Derek glared at him, like he’d committed the ultimate sin. He stared back, not willing to be cowed by those eyebrows, and eventually, Derek was the one to back down. “Do whatever you want,” he said, and Stiles hated the feeling of dismissal that the statement brought with it.

“I’ll get you the information you need,” he countered, wanting to make him position clear. He hated the way that Derek felt like he was on sort of rollercoaster - as if one moment they were connected and in tune and the next they were completely at odds.

Derek didn’t look convinced, shaking his head and turning away, going back to wiping down the bar. “I will,” Stiles insisted, but it sounded petulant and childish even if he didn’t intend for it to.

Stiles lifted his chin at the way Derek glared at him and the other man relented with a shake of his head. “You have absolutely no game,” Derek said, his tone a low growl that Stiles would deny to his grave made his stomach flip over in the most pleasant of ways. He was not supposed to be getting turned on by a guy insulting him. Especially not when that guy was still talking. “So, you’re gonna be at my place tomorrow morning so that maybe I can teach you some shit so you don’t totally suck by tomorrow night.”

Stiles gave Derek a look. “What on earth are you going to teach me that I don’t know? You just growl at everyone and talk with your eyebrows.” The idea of Derek teaching him how to flirt for most of the day was even more embarrassing than the prospect of Lydia or Danny doing it.

“I’m gonna teach you how to control a conversation, so that you get what you want out of it. Or are you really just planning on letting him fuck you for information?” Derek said, leaning in closer, his words just between the two of them.

Stiles felt his face fight between blushing and going pale. “I wasn’t going to...He wouldn’t want to,” Stiles stammered, not able to meet Derek’s eyes.

“Of course not,” Derek said, dryly, and when Stiles lifted his head at that, the older man was looking at him as though he were crazy - and not for the first time. Stiles gaped at him, wondering if he was actually reading that situation right and Derek thought that there was even a possibility of that.

“But... it’s... I’ve never...” Stiles slammed his mouth shut, practically biting his tongue as he shut himself up, blushing madly at what he’d just admitted to and hoping that Derek hadn’t processed that.

For a moment Derek looked puzzled and Stiles thought he was in the clear, but then Stiles watched it register and Derek’s expression shift to something unreadable. “There’s a first time for everything.”

Stiles grimaced, his lips stretching tightly as he wrinkled his nose and wished the floor would just swallow him up, here and now. “Yeah, well, just - forget I said anything, okay?” he suggested, back to not being able to meet Derek’s eyes. “I, er - I’m gonna go now.”

“It’s not anything to be embarrassed about, Stiles,” Derek told him and his voice was actually bordering on kind for the first time ever, but all Stiles could do was snort a reply. It was easy for Derek to say - with looks like his, he was probably the first of his friends to lose his virginity, rather than still having it depressingly intact at his high school graduation.

Derek, though, didn’t look impressed by the noise or Stiles in general and whatever kindness that might have been there was gone. “You should still come over tomorrow. I’m not sending you out there without some guidance.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles said, “You’re not going to let that go, are you? Okay, big guy. You think you have something to teach me? I’ll be at your place, bright and early. Who knows, maybe I’ll even bring you an apple.” Sure, it was sarcastic, but Stiles tended to be more biting when he was embarrassed.

“Make it coffee and I’ll forget the tone,” Derek countered, not backing away from Stiles’ attitude. He met Stiles’ eyes, one hand leaning on the bar, almost daring Stiles to say something else.

“Bet you like it white and frothy, don’t you,” Stiles teased, because it seemed like the last thing Derek would like.

Derek’s eyes dropped lower then back up again, still unreadable. “Not my coffee.”

“Every damn time...” Stiles muttered under his breath. Derek got him every damn time. Maybe the guy did have something to teach him. Aloud he said, “Coffee. Tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I’m out of here.”

Derek smirked, something that might have bordered on wicked then waved Stiles off, looking disinterested. “Don’t be late.”


	9. Chapter 9

Empty coffee cups littered the coffee table, but Stiles was still feeling jittery. Maybe it was just a side effect of being around Derek for such a prolonged period. He had been here for hours now and Derek seemed to be in no hurry for him to leave. 

“You’ve got to stay in control of the situation and keep your wits about you or you’re going to wind up losing track of what you were supposed to be doing,” Derek said, snapping Stiles’ attention and eyes away from Derek’s shoulder. He’d become distracted, his eyes falling on the smooth sweep of muscle where it connected with his neck and wondering what it might be like to bite that space. 

“My wits are fully intact,” Stiles insisted because he was paying attention. He was. Anyway, Ethan wasn’t nearly as distracting as Derek was.

Derek raised an eyebrow skeptically and Stiles was starting to hate that look. “Really?” 

“Really.” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest, trying his best to look tough. 

“Really,” Derek repeated, taking a step closer to Stiles, and Stiles had a quip about there being an echo in the room, but then Derek was in his personal space and Stiles was pretty sure he’d forgotten how to breathe. His mouth hung open a little as he met Derek’s eyes, and for all that there was barely an inch between them, somehow Stiles felt like he was gazing upward. Time seemed to slow as Derek reached out and trailed his fingers along the bare skin of Stiles’ forearm. Stiles felt it as if each individual hair lifted in response to the touch.

Then, abruptly, it was gone. Derek stepped back, his previously soft gaze now as hard as ice. “It won’t work if you’re that easily swayed,” he said. “You’ve got to get used to this. He’s gonna be all over you and you... Touch can’t completely melt your damn brain. Which is what’s happening right now.”

It took Stiles a moment and even then he was sure his heart was pounding. “I am not...my brain is not melted. And he’s not...” He huffed out a breath and waved Derek over. “I can get used to it.” Of course at the same time he didn’t want to because having his brain melted by Derek seemed to be pretty damn awesome, but that was _not_ the point here. “Not to mention, I kind of doubt he’s actually going to be all over me. He’s likely going to be trying to come up with an excuse to get out of the date five minutes in.” 

“Doubt it,” Derek said, and Stiles didn’t know whether the cheer or cry when he took a step back in and this time started stroking Stiles with both hands. It was like Derek had a mission to touch all of him - at least, and somewhat unfortunately, all of the PG-13 areas.

“Doubt what?” Stiles asked, meeting Derek’s smirk as they both silently acknowledged the win for Stiles proving he could hold the track of a conversation with some pleasant touching going on.

“Doubt he’s going to be looking for excuses.”

Stiles snorted half a laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t have to lie. You’re doing enough already.” 

“Why would I lie?” Derek asked, fucking with Stiles’ mind as he ran his hands over Stiles’ shoulders and up into his hair. “I want what you can get from him. I want you to succeed. Giving you false confidence and letting you chase down useless leads doesn’t do that.”

Stiles’ could have sworn he heard that Derek wanted him, but that might have been the hands in his hair that pulled a soft little noise from him. “Because I know better. I know you don’t...” He wanted to get lost in what Derek was doing, but forced himself back if only to avoid Derek stopping. “Wanting me to succeed and thinking I’m appealing are two very different things.” 

Derek smiled in a way that Stiles didn’t really understand, but it made him feel like he’d done something right. “Has anyone ever told you that half the battle in being attractive to other people is believing that you are? I mean, they must have mentioned it - you’re friends with Danny and Lydia and they’ve both mastered it. Lydia especially.”

“They’ve said something about it.” Stiles was shocked Derek knew who his friends were, but that was a different question for a different time. “But they’ve also said I’m a special snowflake who doesn’t quite fit the mold so I’m fully aware that makes me a lot less appealing, no matter how attractive I think I am,” he said, holding himself firm as Derek dropped his head and nuzzled along Stiles’ jawline. He understood the game now. No matter how this felt, Derek didn’t mean any of it. He was just doing what he’d said: making Stiles used to being touched. 

Acknowledging that made everything a lot easier as Derek spoke, his lips forming the words and his breath hot on his skin. “He doesn’t know you. He’s going to be judging you on your looks. He’s going to be doing all of this and you’re... You’re going to be trying to get him to talk about something else. You need to do that to me. You need to get me to talk about something else. Something that’s not the column of your neck, or the way you wear those pants...”

There was an internal fight inside Stiles to move back or just give in, but he fought hard to stay still, nodding while he swallowed a soft moan at the attention. “Right...so are you at all concerned that JJ Abrams might completely alter the feel of the Star Wars films with the new one? We got so used to crappy one-liners and too wide shots and everyone knows JJ loves a good light flare that you just didn’t have in the originals.” It was a conversation he’d tried to have with Lydia at least three times and the first thing that popped into his mind that wasn’t asking about how his pants would look on the floor versus on his ass.

Derek nuzzled further into his neck, pressing a kiss to the base of his shoulder. “As long as they don’t have Jar Jar Binks, or any of his descendants, I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt.”

Stiles couldn’t fight the groan or the way his mind melted at that because that was easily the hottest instant he’d ever experienced in his life and he didn’t think he could go on pretending that it wasn’t. “You’ve seen the movies. A movie. You know what I mean.” And he was kissing him and Stiles might have died somewhere and this was just his version of heaven. 

Stiles knew something bad and unfair was coming when he felt the smile against his neck. “I’m gonna walk out of here if you don’t manage to change the conversation when I try and tell you about the time my sister and I cosplayed Luke and Leia at New York Comicon.”

He figured out the meaning of ‘weak in the knees’ at that moment because Stiles wasn’t at all sure how he was still standing, trying hard not to think about Derek in anything Luke had ever worn, tried to drag the conversation back to something else. In the back of his mind he was pretty sure Derek was screwing with him, having found a button and pushed at it hard, but he very much liked the idea of pretending that this gorgeous, brooding human with his hands on him was secretly a dork like Stiles was. “Is your relationship with your sister as creepy as Luke’s?” Not perfect, but not the same right?

“My sister’s dead.” Derek’s statement was like a bucket of ice water over Stiles’ head and he didn’t even have time to process it before Derek was stalking away across the room, leaving Stiles wondering whether that was real, or just all part of this twisted game they were playing. 

He turned, looking at Derek’s back, biting at his lip for a moment. “Sorry to hear that. What happened?” he asked, tone gentler, trying not to push too hard. He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly cold in the air conditioning without Derek in his space. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Derek said, shutting Stiles down flat. Given the subject, it might have worked as well, had there not been a challenge lurking in the back of the older man’s eyes, one that spurred Stiles on.

“You know, I said that about my mom,” Stiles said instead of giving up, trying to keep his tone even. “Most people just took that and ran with it, but turns out it didn’t get better until I found one person who didn’t accept that as an answer.” He paused for a moment and crossed his arms over his chest. “What happened?” 

“About your mom?” Derek asked with furrowed brow, and Stiles knew that he at least had his attention now.

“She died when I was eight,” he explained, knowing that he might be laying painful reality when Derek was just acting out some kind of a scenario in the name of ‘training’, but he was going to be truthful anyway. He didn’t know how to be anything but himself.

Derek nodded, still not looking at Stiles, not saying anything. Stiles was just considering filling the silence with more about his own experiences when Derek finally spoke. “She overdosed. Same way as Erica the other night, but it killed her.” 

Stiles could feel his mouth working, but no words were coming out. His heart just hurt, thinking about that, and without considering the implications of it, he reached out and put his hand on Derek’s shoulder - a gesture of sympathy and solidarity.

Derek leaned into the touch for a moment then pulled away. “Start again. We can’t go talking about this sort of thing. It’s not helping you.” 

“Yes it is,” Stiles said, chasing the touch for a moment, before letting his hand drop, fisting it into the bottom of his shirt instead. “It’s giving me even more reason to wanna get these guys. Tell me about your sister?” he asked, taking a step forward and tilting his head to the side, his expression soft. He really did care - he wanted to know and even though he knew that this kind of thing could be difficult to talk about, sometimes it felt so good once you did. When you could let that all out. Like they were living once again, even for a moment.

“Isn’t knowing she’s dead enough of a reason?” Derek asked, not moving away when Stiles came closer, but still not radiating accepting or interested. 

“Look, dude, if I’m overstepping and you just really don’t want to talk about it, then that’s okay. I get it. It can be really hard. There’s no judgement here. But - I’m not gonna compare you to me, or your pain to mine, but... I couldn’t talk about my mom for the longest time, but when I did? And when I found someone who actually wanted to listen, instead of making it really fucking awkward - someone who wasn’t acting like what they really wanted was to be out of the conversation as fast as fucking possible? When I could talk about her, then it was really good, y’know?”

“I’m supposed to be helping you you know,” Derek said. He took a deep breath then crossed his arms over his chest. “She was all I had left. Just me and her. We got out of this town, this house, all of it,” he explained, not making eye contact with Stiles. “But then, we came home because we were needed. And...” Derek trailed off then visibly went in a different direction. “She wasn’t a user. I said that to your dad when she died, but no one believed me. They told me I wouldn’t know if she was or not. Me. Who was with her every day. I would have known.” 

“Who told you that?” Stiles asked, straightening and tensing. All games were gone now, at least for him. The was something here, something real. He needed to know - had his dad, or one of his deputies, said that bullshit? Derek’s story didn’t fit, but Stiles didn’t question its veracity for a moment. He already knew he was going to be looking into it at the station, even without any kind of authority to do so.

“Who didn’t?” Derek said, shaking his head. “Your father for one. Said sometimes we don’t know those we love the most.” 

“Why did they think you were wrong? And what do you think actually happened?” Stiles asked him. He felt like there was something that he was really missing here, something that was very wrong. Something that had made his father say that to Derek in his moment of grief. Stiles stood firmly behind his assessment of his father as the best of men, yet he didn’t want Derek to be wrong either.

“Because she’s my sister Stiles! She went a trouble after our parents died, but she didn’t get into hard drugs. We left town and we were happy, no issues besides a couple of drunken nights. We were happy! And then he called and we came back and...” Derek cut himself off and shook his head. “There is no way this is helping you. Come on, get back to it or get out.” 

Stiles opened his mouth to ask who ‘he’ was, but then caught himself. Derek wasn’t going to tell him. He already knew that much. That was the core of this arrangement. Derek knew more than Stiles and there were certain things that he wasn’t going to let get out. Stiles had to find that out himself and keep Derek’s name out of it. “One last question,” Stiles said. “What was your sister’s name?”

Derek looked like he didn’t want to answer, but he moved closer, watching Stiles closely. “Laura. Her name was Laura.” 

“Laura what?” Stiles asked, watching Derek in return, acutely aware that he knew very little about Derek except for his first name and that he seemed to hold all of the jobs at the club. It seemed a simple enough question, and he hadn’t expected the reaction. Derek clammed shut and Stiles could practically see his walls slamming back into place.

“Get back to it, or get out,” Derek ground out.

Stiles wanted to fight it, but he knew he wasn’t getting any further so he wound up nodding and moving close to Derek. “So if I’m looking for something else?” he asked, touching Derek’s shirt, just above his hip. “Something to have a little more fun...” 

It took Derek a moment, and Stiles gave him that, even if it was torture to firstly have to watch him struggle, and then to allow him to slid into the role he had been playing earlier. Stiles barely held back a shiver as Derek stepped into his personal space, his eyes dropping to hooded and the back of his hand coming up to stroke along Stiles’ jawline. “I can think of ways you and I can have lots of fun,” Derek said, his voice low and filled with a promise that Stiles just wanted to surrender himself to.

Stiles had to blink twice, then shook his head, reaching for his hand and pulling it away from his jaw but still holding on to it. He almost caved at the pout Derek’s unholy gorgeous expression curved into when he did that, But Stiles pressed on, saying, “Different kind of fun. I hear it makes this even better.” 

“What did you have in mind?” Derek asked, and this time, Stiles did actually groan when Derek replaced his hand with his nose instead, nuzzling along his jawline with the ghosts of kisses.

“Something strong. Something I can’t grown in my bathtub,” Stiles said tilting his head back to give Derek more space to keep doing what he was doing. Derek took the lead, humming along Stiles’ skin. 

“What makes you think I can get that for you?” 

Determined not to get lost in the moment, Stiles focused all his concentration on staying with the game. He ran the tips of his fingers up Derek’s back and into his hairs, feeling the soft, dark strands flicker between his fingers. “You strike me as a guy who can show me where to get anything he wants.”

The noise that Derek made against his skin was pleased, as if that was very much the right answer. “And what if what I want is you?” His hands curled around Stiles’ hips, pulling him closer still. 

Stiles struggled with that, strongly considering giving in because giving in sounded like fun.

He didn’t though, instead pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and dropping his head to look at Derek through his lashes. “What kind of a guy do you take me for? I don’t put out on the first date.”

Derek looked impressed with the look Stiles was giving him, but his smile shifted into something wicked. “You’re really telling me you’re not interested at all?” he asked, fingers teasing at the waistband of Stiles’ jeans.

Stiles knew that if Derek quested any further, he’d be able to feel just how interested Stiles actually was, which would be thrilling and mortifying in equal measures. Also, not the point of today, unfortunately, though Stiles was having a hard time knowing where Derek-the-man stopped and Derek-the-helpful-act started. It was best to assume that he meant nothing of this and so Stiles tilted his hips back and away gently pulling his waistband from Derek’s fingers. “I’m interested in a man who can provide,” he said, in a coy, yet teasing tone.

Derek chuckled, mouth winding up somewhere around his ear so that when he spoke his breath ghosted over Stiles’ skin when he spoke. “I can provide.” 

_Got you_ , Stiles thought to himself. Aloud, he said, “Prove it.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, but pulled back a little. “Which part?” he asked, finger grazing along Stiles’ jaw before moving back a full step. “Well done.” 

Stiles gazed at him for a moment longer, before it hit home that the game was over. He turned away, giving himself a moment to collect himself so he didn’t do something stupid. “Does it matter which part? Since we don’t mean any of it? It’s just a game and I won - right?”

“I don’t think there’s a winner.” Derek’s eyes raked over Stiles, focusing on one spot for a moment before shrugging. “Did you really win?” he added before smirking. 

“Yes!” Stiles protested, before actually thinking about what had happened. His eyes narrowed and he glared at Derek. “No - but only because you ended the game before I got what I wanted. That’s cheating. You cheater.”

Derek moved closer again, arms crossed over his chest. “What is it you wanted? Because I thought you got there. Or was there something else I missed?” he asked.

“Of course it was what I wanted,” Stiles said, blushing and looking away a little. “Do I get your seal of approval then? For tonight?”

Derek shrugged. “You should be fine I guess.” He paused for a moment then turned away, picking up the coffee cups. “Do you like him?” 

Stiles gaped, visibly surprised by the question. “Like him? Who? _Ethan_? No. No - not... Not like that. I don’t even know him? How can I like him like that - I don’t even know him. I just want the information that he has.”

“You’ve never liked someone you don’t know before?” Derek asked, glancing over his shoulder. “You can like him you know.” He might have said it, but Derek didn’t sound convinced.

“I know I can like him. If I wanted to,” Stiles countered, defensively. “But you have to admit, he’s kinda... Y’know. Good looking and he knows it?”

“Like Lydia Martin.”

“Yes, like... No! Not like Lydia. Because Lydia backs it up with brains and awesomeness!”

“Does she? Haven’t seen that,” Derek said. 

Stiles frowned then shook his head. “She hides it well,” he said. “And...she’s been acting that way more because of some guy, but that’s not the point. I don’t like Ethan.” 

There was a twitch at the corner of Derek’s mouth, as if he was trying to hide a smile. This time it was his turn to look slightly away. “Then you should have no problem keeping in control of things then,” he said.

Stiles wanted to know what that smile might mean, what Derek was thinking, but Derek didn’t really give him much. “I guess yeah. So I’m ready to go?” 

“You’re going to be fine,” Derek reassured him. Stiles wondered at that. The Derek he’d first met hadn’t seemed much for compliments and reassurances, but Stiles had seen hints of a softer side to him. The side that had Scott’s full confidence, and that cared so much for Erica. That was a side that Stiles wanted to uncover all of, to dive right into and wrap around himself. And there had been moment today where he’d thought that, maybe, that could be possible.

But, not right now. Now, he had a job to do. Now, he had to hold up his end of the bargain.


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles paced across the drop off area of the club, hitting one end and turning around to start back the other way without even thinking about it. He was anxious, feeling not just that Ethan was his best shot to get the information he needed, but also that he had something to prove after the morning with Derek. It had been both absolute, sheer torture, and a much-needed confidence boost and learning curve. Yet, the nearer the time came to meeting Ethan, the more restless he became.

“Wow, something's really got you, hasn’t it.” Stiles spun to meet the sudden voice before he realized that it was Erica standing behind him, a crookedly amused smile stretching across her face.

He straightened his shoulders and tried to look confident even if just for a second. “No.” One word and still it sounded like an obvious lie. Stiles was blaming it on Erica being hard to lie to. “I just need it to be--” he checked his cell phone. “--Thirty minutes from now.” 

The smile only widened. “And what’s happening in thirty minutes, Stiles?” she asked in a faux-coy tone that suggested that she already knew, but just wanted to hear him say it.

“A date.” Maybe. Was it a date if Stiles was using Ethan for information? Probably not, but Ethan thought it was a date. 

“Ooh, how exciting,” Erica said, her eyes twinkling as she flipped her hair back over her shoulder. “So, I take it it’s not the boss’ daughter then?” she asked, looking around the place as though Malia was going to walk up and catch them at any moment. That thought filled Stiles with utter dread. He hadn’t promised Malia anything, but that was a scene he really didn’t need right now. If he got caught doing this, all hell was going to break loose.

“It’s not that kind of exciting,” Stiles corrected though he did look around himself just to make sure that Malia wasn’t there. “And no not her. Someone else. So I can help you out.” 

“Well, if you’re going to help me out, then I’ll help you out,” she said, stalking forward and straightening his collar for him, trailing her fingertips just underneath, across his skin. Stiles wondered what it was with people wanting to touch him all of a sudden. He’d gone through eighteen years of his life with relatively contact-free and now everyone around him seemed incapable of communicating with him without touching him. “I’ll find Malia - and I’ll...distract her from you. She’ll be elsewhere for as long as you are having your...date,” she promised. Stiles looked at her, thinking just how much this Erica was different to the Erica he’d seen out of her skull on drugs. He much preferred this Erica, even if she was a little terrifying.

“Don’t hurt her,” Stiles blurted. “Anyway, it’s not a date like that. That hesitation needed kind of date.” She might have been unnerving, but he felt like he needed to explain - the last person he wanted thinking that he was anxious for the date because of it being a date was Erica. Then Derek might find out. “It’s just that I have to get the information I need while he’s probably going to be thinking about other things.” 

Erica burst out laughing. “Take it easy, Batman - I wasn’t going to hurt her. I was just going to make sure that she didn’t come anywhere near where you were. And I made the jump, you know. About the date? Not being that kind of a date? You said that you were helping me out, so I kinda figured that might be the case. I get it. I don’t need details, so don’t have a heart attack on me, okay baby?”

“Right, that makes more sense. Good, that you figured it out. There’s not a need to think it’s more. Or tell other people it’s more.” Which was something Stiles shouldn’t have said. “Batman?” he asked, trying to change the subject and only belatedly realizing that he was rambling, possibly incoherently. He was grateful that Erica seemed to follow with no trouble at all.

“You’re our dark knight, aren’t you? Most people don’t know what you’re doing, while you pretend to be the summer playboy,” she teased, giving him a wide wink.

Stiles liked that. He liked that a lot. It was enough really quell the urge to pace and let a grin spread across his features. “I guess I am aren’t I?” Normally he wouldn’t have gone with playboy, but considering he was going on his second date in less than two weeks it might actually look like that. Plus, channeling a little bit of the charming Bruce Wayne never hurt anyone. 

“I guess you are,” she agreed, stepping forward in front of him to straighten up his collar again, but with a different tone this time and far less touching. It was such an unexpectedly mothering move and they both shared a quiet laugh about it. Erica let him go and took a step back. “I’m gonna leave you to it. Just - no matter what the real purpose is, try and have fun, okay?”

He nodded, smiling at her. “I’ll try.” It wouldn’t be as much fun as his lessons with Derek, but Derek hadn’t meant what he was doing. Ethan probably would.

\-----

Stiles cast a wide, teasing smile over his shoulder at Ethan as he turned the corner toward the bathrooms, letting the look linger and hoping that it was enough. Things seemed to be going well, but he needed a moment to himself to think about everything and figure out an end game to get what he wanted. Ethan appeared eager, just like he had been when they made the date, but Stiles was still trying to get his game in gear. Going along with the heavy flirting was apparently much easier when he was doing it with Derek than it was with Ethan. 

He leaned back against the wall in the abandoned hallway, closing his eyes for a moment and concentrating on his breathing, feeling the air enter and leave his lungs, his nostrils flaring a little with each pass. He reminded himself that he could do this, that Ethan liked him. That sure, he was using and manipulating the other man, but it was for a good cause. And that he really shouldn't be comparing Ethan with Derek at every turn. Or thinking of Derek at all on his date for that matter. information. It wouldn’t get him anywhere. 

There was a click further down the hall and Stiles opened his eyes, standing up straighter in time to see Jackson slip out of a door, hand reaching to slip something into the inside pocket of the jacket he was wearing as the door shut behind him. Stiles frowned, his brow wrinkling. Wasn’t that the staff only?

He knew it was - that was the door that Derek had taken him through when they went to Peter’s office. Definitely not somewhere that Jackson was meant to be. Jackson, however, saw him before he could think on it any further and immediately went on the offensive. “Stilinski - what the hell are you doing here?” he snapped, stalking over as he pulled his jacket closed. “You know, I don’t know why Lydia even hangs around you. She’s far too good for a loser like you.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” Stiles retorted. “What are you doing back here?” 

Jackson looked at him as though Stiles were the dirt on the bottom of his shoe, his lip curling in disgust. “I don’t answer to you, Stilinski. You’re not even your rent-a-cop dad.”

Stiles felt his hackles rise at the blow to his dad, stepping up despite the fact that Jackson was twice his size. Jackson just laughed at him though, shoving Stiles roughly into the wall behind him. “What? You wanna do something about it?” 

Stiles felt his hands balling into fists, but determinedly kept hold of his cool. “You know what, Whittemore? You make me sick. Stay away from me. Stay away from Lydia. Or I’ll have you arrested. I don’t care what I have to tell my dad. _The Sheriff_. I’m sure I can find something that’ll stick if I look deep enough.”

There was a second where Jackson hesitated, something in his eyes other than arrogance, but it was gone too soon for Stiles to place it. “You’re easy to stay away from, Lydia...well she’ll come to me.” He shrugged then patted Stiles too hard on the shoulder before walking away.

“Lydia has more taste than that!” Stiles hollered after Jackson, not that it made any difference. He just kept on walking, flipping the finger back in Stiles’ direction. “She just has to remember that,” Stiles muttered to himself.

Stiles took a moment longer, trying to bring his anger back down before going back to Ethan. He was even more determined to get the information he needed, but he need to charm it out of Ethan and being upset with Jackson being a douche wasn’t going to do it. It took a few more deep breaths, but then he was putting on his best smile and heading back to Ethan, sitting close to him and starting the conversation up again, ready to steer it where he needed it. 

\-----

Stiles felt as if he were on top of the world as he took the turn toward Derek’s house, bopping along to music that was insanely cheerful, but which captured his mood perfectly. He was a god. A genius. A James Bond level spy with just a bit of Black Widow awesome thrown in. He didn’t care that Black Widow was female, they both rocked in that whole ‘using wiles and sexy promises without actually leading through’ thing to awesome effect. Stiles had left Ethan at the club, having obtained everything he needed to know, and without tipping the guy off that he’d just been used. Plus, he had Ethan’s phone number tucked in his pocket, which was a rush even if he had no intention of calling him.

He’d headed straight to Derek’s, of course, his grin widely plastered over his face. He couldn’t wait to share this rush. He needed to deconstruct this whole evening. Plus Scott might be there. And Erica. And...

Stiles’ thoughts came to a grinding halt as he saw the flashing lights through the trees. Blue and red strobes that were so familiar he didn’t even question what they were. He put his foot down a little harder, breaking through the treeline and pulling to a stop just in time to see his father, one hand on Derek’s head, the other on the cuffs at his back, manhandling Derek into the back of his cruiser.

Stiles was out of his jeep before he even realized it, stumbling over every twig and pinecone until he’d caught up with his father, wide-eyed and confused. “What are you doing?” he demanded, louder than he probably should. 

The sheriff jerked his head up at the familiar voice, staring at his son for a long moment before taking a step forward. “What are you doing here Stiles? What did I say about listening in on the police scanner.

“Why are you arresting him?” Stiles protested, wildly darting his gaze between his father and the car.

“This is none of your concern, Stiles. Go home.”

“No, I...”

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice cut clear into the night, silencing both Stiles and his father. “It’s okay. Leave it.”

In Stiles’ opinion, it was anything but okay.

In Stiles’ opinion, it was anything but okay. He was ready to argue that point with Derek when he felt his father’s eyes on him, looking up to see the sheriff staring at him with the patented ‘we are talking about this later’ look. 

“You’re making a mistake,” Stiles said to his father, bullishly, but he let go of the car door and took a step back. The sheriff closed it, sealing Derek inside. Stiles didn’t glance down - he couldn’t. He couldn’t watch Derek being carted off like some common criminal.

“Go home, Stiles,” the sheriff repeated. “I expect you to be asleep by the time I get there, and I will see you at breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“Dad. You’ve got to listen to me,” Stiles insisted, but his father held up a hand for him to stop. 

“I’m the sheriff here, Stiles. Go. Home. Don’t make me repeat it.” 

He knew when he had lost, and so Stiles stood back and watched until the cruiser’s tail lights disappeared around the corner. All his previous jubilation at his achievements tonight long gone.


	11. Chapter 11

Stiles was relying on people being too busy to really notice, rather than stealth, as he waited. After all, it was nearly impossible to be properly stealthy when you were sitting in a powder blue, beat up old jeep, parked at the curb opposite the Sheriff’s station that was full of deputies, most of whom all but raised you from a small child in some kind of group effort after the Sheriff’s wife died far too young.

Simply put: Stiles stood out.

Still, he stood out in such an effective way, and his wish to join the force – and subsequent banishment from the station for the summer – meant that he was all but ignored, as long as he didn’t put a foot through the doors anytime soon. A couple of deputies had leisurely upnodded as they passed him, but not in any way that had Stiles worried that they’d mention his location to his dad.

So, he waited in peace as the time ticked by, fiddling with the radio and determinedly not dwelling on the highly uncomfortable breakfast they’d shared this morning. The one where his dad had pointedly not mentioned Derek, or Stiles’ scene at the arrest. Or asked at all what Stiles’ involvement there was. Stiles had seen the behaviour before. It was the ‘if I ignore this, it’ll go away’ tactic, coupled with the ‘if I don’t ask, maybe it’ll not turn out to be as bad as I fear it could be’ approach. Instead, the Sheriff had oozed disappointment and silent distress on the kind of level that usually had Stiles falling into line.

He hated to upset his dad. He hated feeling like he’d failed him.

He hated his dad arresting Derek even more.

Which was why he was waiting. A wait that was over the moment he saw the station door slam open and Derek walk out, pulling on his leather jacket as he stomped down the stairs, looking like he had a thundercloud hovering over his head.

Gunning the engine, Stiles pulled away from the curb and did a U-turn, pulling to a stop just as Derek reached the sidewalk. Rolling down the window, Stiles leaned over. “Need a ride?” he asked, with a crooked smile.

Derek stared at him long enough for Stiles’ smile to slip. “What are you doing here?” Derek looked around them but didn’t make a move to get in the car. 

“There’s no one else here. I’m the one that bailed you out. Come on. Your other option is walking the six miles back to your house.” 

“You bailed me out?” Derek asked, still not moving.

“Yes, I did. Now get in the damn car and we’ll have this conversation somewhere that’s away.” Stiles thought for a moment that Derek was going to argue further, but thankfully he just rolled his eyes and got in. Stiles pulled away as soon as the door was closed, grateful that nobody had actually seen him pick Derek up.

“Where did you get the money?” Derek asked. Stiles could almost feel that intense, green gaze boring into the side of his head.

“College fund,” Stiles told him, shrugging like it was no big deal.

“Take me back,” Derek said, without pause. “You’re not betting your future on me, Stiles.”

“Too late,” Stiles said, glancing across for long enough to take in the distress on Derek’s face. He actually meant that - he’d go back to jail before taking money off Stiles. Shit. “Don’t sweat it. I’m headed off on a full scholarship anyhow. I’m not mortgaging my future for your freedom or anything overly dramatic like that. I’m just... Investing it on trying to prevent a miscarriage of justice.”

Derek snorted, disbelievingly. “You don’t even know what I was arrested for.”

“Did you do it?” Stiles countered, raising his own eyebrow, daring Derek to say otherwise. 

“Of course not.” 

“Miscarriage of justice. That’s why you brought me into this, remember?” He shook his head at Derek, surprised that all this was so difficult. 

“As if you’re ever going to let me forget,” Derek grumbled, but Stiles caught the twitch of a smile on his face and could see the gratitude there that Derek was failing to suppress.

“Of course not. Especially not since I am awesome and got what we need off Ethan last night,” Stiles said, with a wide grin.

The ghost of a smile faded and Derek nodded. “So you came by last night because the date went well. What did he say?” 

“I have the name of his provider in the club.” Stiles paused, biting his lip. “How much do you actually want to know? You said that you didn’t want to be involved...”

Derek shook his head. “Tell me what you found out.” He paused then added. “Just don’t tell me the details of how you got him to talk.”

“You don’t want to know how impressive I was?” Stiles said teasingly - something that fell flat when he saw the look on Derek’s face. The older man almost looked pained at the suggestion, to the extent that Stiles made a snap decision and pulled off the road. They were out of town now and the road was a lonely one, leading through the woods to the preserve where Derek’s property was. There were no other cars in sight, as Stiles pulled up on the dirt shoulder and turned to Derek. “What?” he asked, leaning an arm on the back of Derek’s seat.

“I told you,” Derek said, thickly. “I don’t want to know.”

Stiles frowned. “Is there a problem? With knowing that, because of you, I was able to keep control of the situation? Because of you, everything went smoothly, I got what we needed and he didn’t even know he’d been played? As far as Ethan’s concerned, he had a nice evening with a guy who turned out to be not that into him, but was perfectly nice about it. No harm, no foul.”

“Stiles...”

“No, Derek,” Stiles said, his heart hammering in his chest as he realised that he was about to say more than he probably should. That maybe he was about to make an utter fool of himself. “All my life, I’ve thought that nobody sees me. No matter how loud and obnoxious I am. No matter what I say, or what I do. I’m invisible. Someone’s friend. Someone’s sidekick. The also ran. Until you. You make me feel... Like you see me. And when I feel like you see me, I feel like I can be seen by anyone. You make me visible and I’m tired of being invisible, Derek. I want to feel the way I feel when I’m with you.”

Derek shifted in the seat then shook his head. “People see you. You just don’t notice. It’s not just me.” He looked back at Stiles, meeting his eyes. “Didn’t you feel that way with Ethan? He definitely saw you.” 

“He didn’t see me the way that you do,” Stiles said, his breath catching in his throat as he lifted his hand from the back of Derek’s seat and trailed it across the other man’s collarbone, up the column of his neck and into the scruff covering his jaw. It was as soft as he had always imagined it would be, with an edge of prickle, enough to make Stiles wonder just what it would feel like against more sensitive parts of his anatomy.

Derek caught Stiles’ wrist, pulling his hand away from his face, but effectively pulling him closer as well. “Where are you going with this?” 

“All the way,” Stiles said, before throwing caution to the wind. Leaning in, he kissed Derek, hoping he’d made the right call.

There was a clear moment of hesitation, then Derek was pulling Stiles in more, kissing him back with one hand against the back of Stiles’ neck. His grip was hard enough to keep Stiles right where he was and nowhere else. 

Stiles clutched at the back of Derek’s shirt and surged forward, opening up under Derek’s mouth.  
It wasn’t perfect - the positioning was awkward, half twisted with the steering wheel and gearshift digging into his side, but all of that paled into insignificance compared to having Derek’s lips against his.

“Stiles,” Derek said all too soon, drawing back from the kiss too soon, but not pushing Stiles away. “Can we,” he kissed Stiles lightly. “Not do this here?” 

“Can we do this somewhere else then?” Stiles replied, lips still on Derek’s. Now that he was here, backing off was the last things on his mind.

“That was why I suggested a different location,” Derek clarified, kissing Stiles once more before giving him a gentle shove back towards the steering wheel. 

“Not entirely sure you did, but really not gonna argue the point,” Stiles said, settling back into his seat and pulling back onto the road towards Derek’s place. There was a moment or two, then he reached out and took Derek’s hand in his, twining their fingers as he drove, not wanting to lose contact entirely, but not brave enough - or foolish enough - to push for more.

Derek looked at their hands twined together, but didn’t say anything or pull away either. Instead, he kept Stiles’ hand in his until they were parked outside his house. He let himself out of the jeep then looked back at Stiles, leaning in the window. “You coming?” 

Stiles nearly sent Derek stumbling back, he was in such a hurry to get out of the jeep. “Yes. Hell yes, yes I’m coming,” he said, pulling Derek in for a kiss and pulling at his shirt even as he propelled them toward the house.

Derek somehow managed to keep them upright until they were inside though Stiles didn’t really remember getting through the door. What did register loud and clear was being pushed back against the wall just inside the door. Derek slipped out of his jacket the was back, kissing Stiles harder than he had before.

Clothes came off in a flurry, dropped in succession, a haphazard trail from the front door to Derek’s bedroom, until Stiles found himself landing, naked in Derek’s bed. Wide-eyed and hungry, Stiles reached for Derek, taking in the view of him standing at the bottom of the bed and wanting him closer.

Derek seemed to have finally slowed down though. He let Stiles pull him closer, but took his time crawling over the smaller man, kissing down the column of his neck. “You’re going to get in trouble for this aren’t you?” 

Stiles arched his neck to give him more space and whined at the new slower pace. It was torturous, but still so incredibly exciting. “Not if no one knows.” 

“Part of the appeal then?” 

“No, the appeal’s all you.”

“You don’t need to lie to me,” Derek murmured against Stiles’ skin as he worked his way lower, down his chest and Stiles let his eyes fall shut.

“I don’t think I could lie to you. You’d know.” 

“Would I?” Derek asked, kissing down the flat of Stiles’ stomach.  
Stiles groaned, arching up into the touch. “Even if you couldn’t, I don’t want to lie to you.”  
Derek bit down on Stiles’ hip, hard enough to get a little yelp out of Stiles. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Don’t talk like what?” Stiles protested, propping himself up on his elbows and looking down the length of his body to Derek, all dark hair and lips against his pale skin.

Derek glanced up at Stiles, then shook his head. “Like I matter. Like this matters.” 

Stiles scrambled down the bed until he was next to Derek, kissing those lips, his hands on Derek’s shoulders. “This matters. To me, this matters, you matter.” A thought occurred to him then and he pulled back, enough that he could look into Derek’s eyes. “Unless... does this not mean anything to you?”

Derek watched Stiles for a long moment before shaking his head. “I didn’t say that. It does, but I know not to think too much into it.” 

“Then, I don’t understand,” Stiles admitted.

“Stiles,” Derek said, running his thumb along Stiles’ jaw. “We’re from two different worlds.” 

“You know I’m not one of them!” 

“But I also know you’re a kid, who’s headed for college in a few months and off to something much better than hanging around with a guy who can’t even...” Derek was quiet then kissed him instead of saying more. 

Stiles stilled, mouth falling open. Then he pushed himself away and off the bed, grasping for his clothes. “God, I feel like such a fucking idiot. To even think that...” He turned to Derek as he pulled his jeans up, fastening them haphazardly. “But I’m just a kid. That’s all you see.”

“Stiles.” Derek sat up in the bed, hooking his fingers in Stiles jeans to drag him back. “That’s not all I see at all. I just know you’re leaving. I know better than to get attached.”

Stiles looked down at Derek, biting his lip. “So, you’re saying this can’t be anything serious?” he asked, trying to figure out what Derek was trying to say.

Derek undid the button on Stiles jeans, looking up at him. “I’m saying come back to bed.” He kissed the skin he exposed, working the jeans and his mouth lower. “We’ll figure the rest out later.” 

Stiles let his eyes drift closed. When it was put just like that, how could he possibly argue.


	12. Chapter 12

“Do you have a lot of summer flings. Or, y’know, flings. Less of the summer, I guess, since that would be pretty limiting and seasons could be equal opportunity,” Stiles asked, speaking quickly, because it was a question that had been bugging him in the afterglow, and it was weirdly easier to ask Derek intimate questions when he was sprawled out, naked, across the older man’s muscular chest and feeling pretty good about the world.

Derek arched a brow and dipped his chin to look down at Stiles. ”Do I…?” he asked, letting the question linger, which of course meant that Stiles had to fill it.

“You warned me earlier that this wasn’t serious. Which… Do you do this kind of thing a lot? Have you done this kind of thing before?”

“You’re asking about my sex life?”

“Well, I think I kinda have an interest in it now, don’t you?” Stiles asked, cheekily, giving Derek a grin. One that faded when Derek clearly wasn’t amused.

“I’m clean, if that’s what you’re wanting to know,” he said, darkly. “You want proof, I’ll get tested.” Not that they hadn’t been careful anyhow, they’d both been insistent on that. Not that Stiles had thought that Derek would be anything but, still he wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t going to take risks and the way Derek had been, he wouldn’t have been able to even if he’d wanted.

“That’s not what I…” Stiles protested, gaping as Derek pushed him off him and sat up, the tattoo across the centre of his back shifting as he did so.

“There’ve been others,” Derek said, pulling on his shirt, and Stiles made a pained noise at how unhappy Derek sounded with that admission. Then he realised how that could be taken and hurried to explain.

“Of course there have – you’re gorgeous! Who wouldn’t want you. It’s… It’s meant to be a good thing, though. You make it sound like it’s the worst thing ever to have happened to you.”

“Maybe it is,” Derek said, standing to pull on his pants. “Maybe what they gave me wasn’t what I was looking for.”

Stiles sat up, not getting his clothes, but at least making sure the sheet was around his waist. “What are you looking for?” he asked, trying not to sound hopeful. He wasn’t at all sure what it was Derek wanted and odds were Stiles wasn’t it, but he could ask couldn’t he?

Derek’s shoulders slumped, and he turned to face Stiles, every inch the debauched hunk of man meat. Stiles knew he shouldn’t objectify, but it was so very hard, with Derek standing before him, shirt unbuttoned and framing perfect pecs and a killer six pack – not to mention the way his jeans were slung low around his hips, a dark trail of hair leading down into places that Stiles wasn’t going to forget in a hurry. It was an effort to remember to look into Derek’s face as he said, “Something more? But, I learned a long time ago that life doesn’t always deliver what you actually want.”

“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places,” Stiles suggested, reaching for Derek to pull him back, just like Derek had done to him. 

Derek took a couple of steps forward, allowing himself to be pulled as his expression softened. “You just think you have all the answers, don’t you?” he asked, running a hand through Stiles’ hair. “Like, no matter what’s going on, you can fix it. You can figure out a way. Life’s a big mystery and you just love the challenge.”

“No one usually says it with such a nice tone,” Stiles said, letting a smile slip onto his features as he moved to his knees so he could kiss Derek. “But yes. I love a challenge. And figuring out a way to make things better.” 

Stiles felt the smile against his lips as they kissed and the rush that knowing he’d caused that in Derek was amazing. He pushed up more, sliding his hands around Derek’s back, fingers dancing over the tattoo. This was it, he knew. He wanted to be the one that made things better for Derek. He wanted to be the one to make him smile, all the time.

Derek wrapped a strong arm around his waist before half guiding Stiles back onto the bed. “Don’t you have a case you’re trying to solve?” Not that he even slowed at kissing Stiles, or crawling over him again. 

“Can’t it wait?” 

“Hmmm, sure it can wait,” Derek hmmed along his skin, making Stiles shiver in anticipation and want. “But how are you going to solve the world’s problems if you can’t get out of bed?”

Stiles chuckled at the jump from a single case to the entire world, and he had to wonder if Derek just preferred not to talk about himself too much. Either way, he’d let it go, when the man was doing that thing with his tongue. “It’ll wait a little while.”

“Who says I’ll be done with you in just a little while?” Derek asked, nipping at Stiles’ skin lightly and making Stiles groan. 

“If you’re so determined to get me out of bed you’re doing a terrible job.” 

Derek pulled Stiles in for another kiss. “I know.” 

“So, you want me to solve your case, and save the world, but do it all from this bed,” Stiles stated with a laugh.

“Pretty much,” Derek agreed, tracing the line of Stiles’ moles across his cheek with his tongue before burying his face in Stiles’ neck.

Stiles smiled, running his fingers through Derek’s hair to keep him where he was. “I got the name from Ethan. I never told you who it was.” They’d started fighting about how Stiles had gotten the information then wound up where they were now. 

“Stiles, if you try and say that name when I’m about to suck your dick, you’re gonna end up really disappointed,” Derek told him.

Stiles’ eyes went wide. “I wasn’t aware that’s where this was going...” 

Derek pulled back, a knowing smirk playing across his handsome face. “Well, if you don’t want me to...” he teased.

Stiles’ hand shot out to stop him. “No! No! Want - I want. So want. Definitely want. Yup, all the wanting. All the time!”

Derek just smirked more before ducking his head to kiss down Stiles’ chest. “If that’s the case...” 

“Definitely the case. Well not the case, but we can talk about that later. This we should do now.” 

\-----

“Oh I’m not sure I like that face,” Danny said as Stiles dropped into the lounge chair next to him. They were set up out by the pool again, which today Stiles was more than okay with because he knew Derek was supposed to be on lifeguard duty. 

“What face?” 

“That one. It’s that Cheshire Cat grin you get when you’ve been up to something you find wickedly funny or you really shouldn’t have been doing.” Danny dropped his sunglasses down his nose to cut his eyes over at Stiles. “And your track record for getting into trouble with that face is incredible. What did you do?” 

“I’ve been enjoying my final summer, Danny boy - isn’t that what you’ve all been telling me that I need to do?”

Danny stared at Stiles hard then leaned in closer. “What did you do? Because two weeks ago you hated the idea of enjoying your final summer. Malia?” 

Stiles felt a flash of guilt at the mention of the girl’s name. He hadn’t even spared her a single thought since yesterday afternoon. He tried to rally, but there was no hiding anything from Danny, who sat back again. “So, not Malia. Just as long as you know what you’re doing, Stiles. And don’t be a jerk - you’ve never been a jerk. Don’t start now.”

“I’m not...” Stiles leaned back in his chair too, looking over at Danny. “How is it best not to be a jerk? Because I have a feeling if I’m going to be one I might not be doing it on purpose. Because let’s be honest, I don’t really know what I’m doing.” 

Danny twitched a grin at that. “How many people have you got on the hook right now? Be honest,” he advised, taking a sip of his iced water.

“I don’t-” Stiles started but stopped. “Um. Two? No, wait. Three.” Three if Ethan didn’t follow that Stiles wasn’t interested after the end of things. 

Danny whistled, looking impressed. “Okay, so you stepped up your game then. No wonder you’re looking all--” He gestured to Stiles’ face. “--like that.”

“I’m not...you know with all of them,” Stiles corrected. “And I don’t want to be with two of them. You gotta help me here.” 

“And there the panic sets in,” Danny said, setting down his water and looking a lot more like he was on solid ground and less like Stiles was some new, miraculous type of butterfly. “What do you need me to help you with? You know, there are plenty of acceptable ways of saying ‘I’m just not that into you’.”

“Sure there are - when the person you’re not into isn’t like the person that everyone expects you to end up with!”

Danny looked confused then curious. “So everyone expects you to end up with which one of the people you’re into? Who are you into?” 

Stiles, avoided Danny’s gaze. “It’s er, probably best not to say. Let’s just leave it as ‘someone my dad most definitely wouldn’t approve of’, okay?” Because bringing home a guy that his dad had arrested? So not going to happen. Just the thought of that had Stiles itching with discomfort, because for his entire life, he’d believed that his father could do no wrong. Now, he was faced by a situation in which he was sure that Derek had to be innocent. Whatever the truth was, it would break something in him.

Danny let out another whistle at that. “I feel like I’m seeing a whole new side to you Stiles Stilinski. And I like it.” He grinned a little. “Good for you though. Everyone should have a run with a bad boy.” Stiles didn’t bother to point out that it could have been a bad girl, and Danny crowed at the silent confirmation that he’d guessed right. “So - any time you need to sneak off to be with your guy, I’ll totally cover for you.”

Stiles thought it was about time that he had the chance considering how often he’d covered for Danny over the years. “Thank you. Though, I’m not sure how much I’ll need it. I mean, yes, I hope so. It’s just complicated without the other two people floating around.” 

“So, uncomplicate it,” Danny said with an easy smile.

“No, I don’t think so,” Stiles mused, sweeping his gaze across the pool and trying not to linger too long on Derek’s abs. The older man was studiously not looking his way, as though they were nothing too each other, and Stiles tried not to let that sting. He got it, he really did. Still, it was all he could do not to get up, cross to the other man, and plaster himself along Derek’s back as he ran his hands down his chest. “Complicated is good right now,” he decided, looking away, at anything else. If things were complicated, maybe he wouldn’t fuck up and give them both away.

“That’s a special kind of complicated then,” Danny surmised and Stiles had to nod. “So what are you going to do about all of it?” 

_Have really, really good sex,_ Stiles thought, only realising that he’d said that out loud when Danny laughed loudly enough that everyone round the pool - including Derek - looked over at them.

Danny reached over and patted him a little too hard on the back. “Don’t get too carried away with yourself.” 

Stiles could feel the blush covering his face, even in the warmth of the sun. Derek looked away before he caught his eye, and life around the pool carried on regardless.


	13. Chapter 13

Stiles reached off the foot of Lydia’s bed and pawed through the stack of magazines she had there, pushing past Vogue and Glamour until he found Popular Science and took that. “Why are you getting dressed up for this thing again?” he called out to wherever in her walk-in closet she’d gotten lost at. He flipped through the first few pages of the magazine. 

“Because Jackson is making dinner at his place while his parents are out.” Lydia came out of the closet in a mini dress that made her look like a runway model. 

“Do people like him have parents? I thought they were grown in pods.” Stiles wondered what he’d said, when Lydia glared at him, hands on hips, as though he’d just skinned Prada alive. He even looked around to see if the tiny dog was still alive and kicking - it was. “What?” he asked.

“For your information, Jackson is adopted. His real parents died when he was young. It’s a sore spot for him - he’s spent most of his life trying to live up to people’s expectations.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Stiles asked, feeling bad for Jackson for a moment, a moment. “What expectations? He’s fine. He’s popular and handsome and rich. I hardly think he’s struggling Lydia.” 

“You wouldn’t understand, Stiles. You have a father who loves you and who wants the best for you. Your dad would support you in whatever you wanted to do,” Lydia said, with an air that bordered on patronising in Stiles’ opinion.

“Sure, anything I want to do, so long as it’s not law enforcement,” he countered.

“For the summer,” Lydia countered. “And it’s not like you’ve not found your case to work on anyway. Jackson doesn’t have that at all.” 

“Don’t ask me to feel sorry for someone like Jackson,” Stiles said. She had no clue who he was, or what he was like. Jackson hid behind his pretty boy face and rich kid ways, but Stiles knew what he really was. Jackson was the name Ethan had given him. Jackson was bringing drugs into the club. Stiles just didn’t know how yet, or how he was managing to get away with it so smoothly.

“He doesn’t want your pity,” Lydia corrected. “I’m asking you to be a bit more understanding that others have struggles too Stiles.” He was downright floored with how she hardly even sounded like his Lydia anymore. He stared at her long enough that she actually shifted, uncomfortable. It was like a revelation. He had never managed to make Lydia uncomfortable before; typically it was the other way around. “How about we don’t talk about Jackson?” she suggested.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “How about we don’t talk about Jackson.” He’d be happy if the guy just disappeared from their lives completely.

Lydia nodded, then ducked back into her closet. “How’s Derek?” 

Stiles was grateful that she wasn’t looking at him when she asked that question. It gave him a moment or two to think about the answer. Not that it helped. He still managed to blurt out, “ He got arrested by my dad.”

“What for?” Lydia reappeared, eyes wide as she hung off the closet door, a blue shirt clutched in her hand. He knew she was shocked - she would never have crushed the collar in that way if she had been really thinking about things.

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted, slumping back onto the bed. “Derek won’t say, and I can’t ask my dad. That would just make things worse.”

“So he does have to do with the things tacked up on your wall that you said we weren’t going to talk about?” Lydia asked. “I think him getting arrested counts as trouble and a reason to tell your dad what you’re working on Stiles.” 

“You don’t know that and neither do I!” Stiles exclaimed, sitting up straight. “I don’t know it has anything to do with anything. Not really. Could be anything. Doesn’t have to be...” He trailed off because he knew in his heart of hearts that this had to all be related. It had to be.

Lydia stared at him hard then raised an eyebrow. “New question. What’s going on with you and Derek? Because you don’t get that worked up for the average criminal.”

Stiles swallowed, hard. “Nothing?” he tried, cringing at the squeaky way his voice came out and the unimpressed look Lydia gave him.

“Try that again with someone who doesn’t know you this well. You. Derek. Happening. Spill. I want to know.”

“Lydia I can’t,” Stiles insisted, dropping back on the bed. “I don’t think I should talk about it.” 

“Oh my god you’re doing it aren’t you?” 

“Doing what?”

“Stiles.” Lydia leaned over him, hands on her hips, clearly not amused. “Him. It. Sex. Don’t lie to me.” 

“I think lying might be better for my health,” he said, trying to go for lighthearted and joking.

“I think considering lying is giving yourself away.” She sat down on the bed next to him, looking down at him. “When did all this happen? What about Malia?” 

“She’s a sweet girl, but... I don’t just want to be with someone because they’re the one that everyone thinks I should be with, y’know? We both deserve more than that.”

“What more do you want then? And...do you really have more with Derek?” 

Stiles felt himself melt and knew he had to have the most stupid of smiles on his face. “I want it all, Lyds,” he said. Her eyes widened and, for a moment, she was lost for words. Then she sank down on the bed beside him, looking for all the world as if she were about to check his forehead to see if he had a fever.

“Wow - you’ve got it bad.”

“So bad,” Stiles said, looking over at her. “Isn’t that the point, though? To feel like this? Isn’t this what we’re all looking for?” 

Lydia shook her head, pityingly. “Not with the help, Stiles. Not when they’re a criminal. Have some self-respect.”

"The help? Who are you?" Stiles shook his head at her. "You don't care about that. You never have. You're friends with me, Lyds. I am the help. My dad's a civil servant and I drive a piece of crap jeep." 

“And yet still way above a guy who tends bar at a club and gets arrested for drug dealing!” she snapped, then suddenly realised what she had said.

“You knew.” His jaw dropped as he realised the implications of that. “You knew what Derek was arrested for. You knew I didn’t know, but you knew and you didn’t tell me. Which means someone told you not to tell me - what the _fuck_ Lydia?”

“Stiles,” Lydia pleaded gently, but Stiles shook his head. 

“No! No. How do you know?” 

She looked guilty, which was a rare thing for Lydia, but she let that slide and straightened her shoulders. “Jackson told me.” 

Stiles didn’t even try and hide the rush of hot anger that flowed through him. Jaw tightening and eyes narrowing he ground out, “Tell me _exactly_ what he said.”

Lydia leaned back a little and shook her head. “He said you can’t trust people like Derek. You give them an inch and they take a mile. That he’s been selling drugs behind Peter’s back and Peter gave him a second chance and he took advantage of it.” 

“He’s full of shit,” Stiles barked, hot and furious.

“Stiles,” Lydia said, laying a hand on his arm that Stiles barely resisted shaking off. “They found the drugs in the trunk of Derek’s car.”

Stiles froze, not sure how to process that. “They found what?” That wasn’t right. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. 

“A range, apparently. In quantities that there was no doubt that he was dealing.”

“Derek wouldn’t do that,” Stiles said though his voice sounded too far away.

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you thought you did.” He knew Lydia was trying to be kind, but she didn’t understand. That couldn’t have been Derek. Derek was more anti-drugs than anyone he’d ever known. Derek had set him to find the dealer at the club. He would never have done that if he was involved. 

“But I do know him,” Stiles said with a shake of his head. “He wouldn’t do this.” 

“Do you really, though? Or do you just know what he showed you? Are you maybe clouded by how you feel about him?”

“How I feel about him has nothing to do with this. Derek hasn’t shown me anything and he’s not a drug dealer. I know he’s not.”

“Then how did he end up with enough drugs in his trunk for your dad to arrest him, Stiles?” 

Stiles didn’t have an answer for that though he had plenty of theories. They chased each other round his head, waging war with reason and instinct. Abruptly standing, Stiles said, “I have to go.” He needed to go home and figure this out. He could solve this - he just needed to concentrate and think it through.

“Stiles,” Lydia started, getting up with him. “Don’t go chasing things. I can see that look in your eyes. It’s dangerous. _He’s_ dangerous.” 

“He’s not dangerous, Lydia,” Stiles said, stuffing his things haphazardly into his backpack.

“Even if he isn’t a drug dealer, which I’m pretty sure he is, he’s involved with it. That makes him dangerous. Stiles. Stop and think for a moment.” 

Shaking his head and hefting his bag onto his shoulders, Stiles headed for the door. “I don’t stop and think, Lydia. Never have and I’m not gonna start now.” He didn’t wait for her response, instead heading out and down the stairs. He needed to find out exactly what was going on.

\---------

Stiles had been halfway to Derek’s when he changed directions to head back towards the club. He had Jackson’s name. He knew something was going on at the club. Heading back to Derek’s to demand why he hadn’t told Stiles about the drugs in his car wasn’t going to help anything. Not when he could find out where the drugs had come from. He pulled up to the club and hopped out of the jeep, heading for Isaac who was leaning against the valet podium giving Stiles a look of utter disdain. 

“We need to talk,” Stiles said without preamble. He’d never got the impression that Isaac liked him and before now, it hadn’t worried him in the slightest. Isaac was free to dislike him as much as he wanted - as long as he helped.

Isaac shook his head. “Yeah, don’t wanna, so no. We don’t have to.” He held out his hand for the key to Stiles’ jeep as if that was that. 

Stiles almost laughed. Like there was any chance of him actually either handing over the keys to his baby, or to taking that kind of response. He twirled his keys around a finger and shook his head. “You know more about what’s going on in this lot than anyone - don’t even try and deny it. So, when drugs are found in the trunk of someone’s car, I figure that you know something about it.”

“That’s definitely not on the list of things I would even consider talking to you about,” Isaac said, giving up on waiting for the keys and crossing his arms over his chest. “Stay out of it.” 

“Oh, it’s far, far too late for that,” Stiles said. “I’m in. And I also notice that you’re not trying to deny that you know anything about it. Who put the drugs in his car, Isaac?” Because Stiles refused to believe that Derek had anything to do with this, which meant he was framed.

“No. I’m not helping you screw him up any more than you already have,” Isaac insisted. “You just waltz in here on vacation like this is all fun and games and it’s not. You don’t get to come in and make best friends with my friends and then act surprised when things go shitty for us now that you’re around.” Isaac shook his head. “Park your own damn car.” 

“Firstly, I never asked you to park my car. Nobody drives my baby but me. And B - things didn’t go shitty because I’m around. From all I can tell, things were shitty anyway and I’m trying to stop them being shitty.”

“Which is why your father arrested him,” Isaac said, his blue eyes full of disdain as he sneered.

“I’m not my dad. I’m the guy that posted bail and collected him when he was released. I’m the guy that drove him home.”

“Oh is that some sort of community outreach program then?” 

Gesturing wildly in an attempt not to act on his frustrations by hitting Isaac, Stiles flailed, saying, “It’s cos it’s _Derek_ , you moron. It’s because there’s no way in hell he’s done anything.”

“And you told your dad that? You walked right into the station and you stood up for Derek and you did all of that. You didn’t, say, do nothing and go home when he was arrested last night?”

Stiles stopped short for a second before shaking his head. “No, but he wouldn’t let me. I tried but he didn’t want me to get involved.” 

Isaac held out his hands as if Stiles had just hit the nail on the head. “Exactly. Don’t get involved. Go away.” 

“Have you always been such a fucking idiot? Or is this a new thing? Pull your head out of your ass, Isaac. I know you don’t like me. I’m not expecting you to like me. I don’t give a damn if you like me or not. But your friend is in real trouble. I’m trying to help him. I need to know if you know anything about who might have had access to Derek’s car last night.”

“And who’s got to be there when you’re done with him? With all of them. Me.” Isaac shook his head, but let out a sigh like he’d given up. Stiles wasn’t banking on it being him coming to his senses. He didn’t seem like a guy with senses to come to. “Staff parks in the staff lot. You have to buzz through the gate with a passcode.” 

“Only staff have passcodes?” Stiles checked before a thought occurred to him. “...Or people who have been given a staff pack.” He remembered the page though he couldn’t recall the code. Six digits and a couple of letters. 

“Only staff get packs,” Isaac said, shaking his head in a way that made Stiles feel almost sorry for his naivety.

“Or people who have been given a spare packet.” He remembered now, the way that he’d seen Jackson leaving the staff only area like he owned the place. Yet someone like Jackson would never stoop so low as to be able to even be thought of as ‘staff’. No, Jackson knew someone. Jackson had connections. Someone higher up. Someone... “Isaac - the door through, that leads to Peter Hale’s office. Does anyone else have an office back there?” he asked, hurriedly.

Isaac shrugged. “Not really. There’s offices back there, but there’s no one to work in them. Apparently we used to have a bigger staff, more professionals and such, but these days Peter does everything.” 

Stiles could feel the pieces slotting together in his brain. There we’re still gaps, but he could see the shape of it now. “Isaac, do you ever seen Jackson and Peter together?”

Isaac shrugged, still clearly not amused with Stiles. “Sure, but Peter talks to all the important guests and Jackson’s richer than anyone else in town. Why does that matter?”

“Because I saw Jackson coming out of Peter’s offices out of hours, and I don’t trust him.”

“No one trusts him,” Isaac said with an eye roll, but he tapped his fingers on his arm for a moment. “He knows everyone. And where everything is. He’s been coming here for years.” 

“Why does no one trust him?” Stiles asked, his eyes narrowing as he focused in on a possible lead. 

“Beyond the obvious?” Isaac asked. “He’s that guy...the one from the old TV show that acts all sweet then kicks you in the balls when no one’s looking.” He shook his head and crossed his arms the other way. “He’s another rich kid asshole. There’s no reason to trust him.” 

Glaring at Isaac, Stiles firmly suppressed the urge to wring his neck with the entirely inappropriate scarf he was wearing. Totally not part of the uniform and he had no idea why anyone would want to wear a scarf in this weather anyhow. “You’re really not being helpful here.”

“Really not seeing any reason to want to be,” Isaac said, returning the glare with a fixed jaw as he leaned back against one of the cars.

“This is for Derek,” Stiles insisted, annoyed that he had to do it again. 

“And I’m not sure you’re good for Derek.” 

“I’m good for Derek,” Stiles protested, mouth falling open. “I’m so good for Derek. Why would I not be good for Derek?”

“Because Derek deserves to be more than some summer fling with some guy slumming for kicks.” 

Anger hit Stiles like a freight train and he launched himself at Isaac, bodily pulling the other guy off the car and throwing him to the floor. Holding Isaac by his shirt, Stiles pulled his right arm back, intent on hitting that smirk off his face, only to realise that Isaac wasn’t smiling any longer. He was cowering on the floor, wide-eyed and frightened. Letting him go, Stiles took a step back, lip curling up into a sneer. “You’re not worth it,” he spat. “Derek isn’t ‘slumming it’ and if you think that he is - that anyone could ever think that someone like him is that - you’re no friend to him.”

“I don’t think that!” Isaac insisted, backing away from Stiles and looking at him like he was insane. 

“You’re the one that said it,” Stiles ground out. “Derek’s the best that to happen to me for a long time. I am _lucky_ he even looks my way. I don’t want this to be a summer fling, or some kind of experiment, or whatever the fuck you seem to think it is. And I will do _whatever_ I can to help him. The way you’re not doing right now.”

Isaac held his hands up. “I don’t know anything else, Stiles. I’m just looking out for my friend. I don’t want to see him get hurt.” 

“I’m not the one that’s gonna be hurting him. I’m the one that’s actually trying to help him,” Stiles said.

“Fine then,” Isaac said, putting more space between them. “Go do that.” He didn’t sound convinced, but at least he wasn’t outright fighting Stiles on it.

Stiles stared at him, gobsmacked. As if that wasn’t what he was trying to do, right here and now. Like Isaac wasn’t the one standing in his way. “You useless...” Stiles trailed off, shaking his head and not even bothering adding the ‘piece of shit’ as he walked away. He’d have to find his answers elsewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for being gone so long! but we're back <3


End file.
